Once Upon a Bear
by Pantsypantspants
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a stuffy adult who only cares about his job, his bills, his bank accounts, and other such adult things. The only thing he carries with him is a briefcase and a difficult past. But one night in the train station, on his way to a required work banquet he dreadfully does not want to attend, he meets someone who will change his life. (This is slightly a crossover.)
1. Chapter 1: A Ridiculous Meeting

He lives alone. "I always have lived alone, and I always will," he says. One of those statements isn't true. He's not sure which one.  
Imagine a tall man in a hat. Pardon me, I was wrong about that; imagine a man in a tall hat. The hat is tall, but the man is actually quite short. A short man in a tall hat. Imagine he has tousled hair either the color of a murky pond or a yellow lab after playing in the rain. You decide which.  
Imagine a shimmering, green Emerald. Now, take that emerald and throw it in the ocean. Go dig it back up again. I want you to now use it as a football. That's right, kick around a bit; make a couple goals. Now toss it in the mud and leave it there for a month. All right, you can go back and get it now, but the only thing you have to clean it with is a dry handkerchief. Imagine that this is the color of the man's eyes.  
They might have once shimmered and sparkled with life and adventure, but they are dull and dirty now. Too murky to see anything playful. His face looks the same way. Not green, but dull. The only expressive facial feature he has are his eyebrows. These are quite intense and, to some, quite frightening. Imagine this man with me. He is wearing a tall hat and a black suit with a bow tie and coat tails, complete with a decorative cane. He feels rather ridiculous.  
He lives alone. His name is Arthur Kirkland. If he had any family or friends-which he doesn't-and you asked them what his life motto is they would probably say, "There comes a time where everyone must grow up." His colleagues would have agreed.  
Imagine this man, Arthur Kirkland, getting off a train at Paddington station. He is dressed in those ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, clothes for a work event. He would much rather be at home than out galavanting across London in such a ridiculous outfit, but his colleagues and higher ups already thought him to be quite stiff. If he didn't show up, surely they would never consider him for the promotion he'd been working towards the last three years. So, he wore the ridiculous costume and made his way to the Grand Ball as they were calling it. A ridiculous notion, really. Balls were a thing of the past; a silly exercise of the rich and royal who had too much time and money on their hands. Arthur Kirkland huffed indignantly.  
"Utterly ridiculous," he muttered to himself under his breath. He exited the train and walked-rather quickly despite his short legs-to the station exit. From here, he wouldn't have to walk far. As he was passing the station signpost, however, the one that read "Paddington Station," he heard a small voice address him.  
"Pardon me, dear sir," the voice said. "But would you happen to be able to spare a marmalade sandwich? Or any sandwich at this point, really." Arthur looked down to find a small bear in a red hat and a blue coat sitting on a little brown suitcase looking up at him with eager eyes. Arthur froze, unsure of how to respond. He wanted to walk past the bear and continue on his way, but he couldn't get out of his mind another bear he had once known, so long ago... He shook himself out of it. This was a completely different bear, yet it brought up all of those memories. Arthur decided instead to face his emotions. He stopped and addressed the bear,  
"Why do you think I would carry a spare marmalade sandwich with me?" He was hoping to stump the bear who, surely was of very little brain like most other bears, but the bear was quick to respond.  
"Because I always carry a spare marmalade sandwich with me," he said.  
"Then why don't you eat that one?" Arthur questioned.  
"I did. Yesterday at lunch, and I haven't eaten anything since," the bear replied matter of a factly. Arthur was surprised.  
"You haven't eaten anything all day?"  
"No, sir, I have not. Hence why I asked you for a sandwich," the bear answered.  
"Why do you think I have a sandwich?"  
"Well, I suppose because you stopped. And because the last 52 people I asked did not have a sandwich, so the probability of the next person I ask having a sandwich surely is very high at this point." He's an optimist, Arthur thought. All the more reason to walk away. Yet, he stood there. Perhaps because of many reasons, but surely also because he did indeed have a marmalade sandwich with him. Although it was not a spare. He had brought one secretly in case he decided to refrain from the ridiculous food at the ridiculous party and needed something to eat instead. If he gave it to this bear, not only would he be late, but then he would be forced to eat the food or starve until he could get home and make another sandwich.  
Then, a thought came to his mind. He didn't particularly like it, but it might spare him of a dreadful evening out and put him in a good light to his co-workers. Arthur crouched down to the bear's height and looked him in the eyes. They were warm brown eyes, innocent and naive, yet clever in their own little way. They felt very familiar, yet completely different at the same time. Arthur had to force himself to stay focused and not let his emotions get in the way of this tactical endeavor.  
"Bear, do you need a place to stay tonight? Perhaps you could come home with me and clean up and eat some food? Then, in the morning I could escort you wherever you need to go." Arthur did not want to take the bear home. But when he told his boss and colleagues that he helped a hungry bear find its way home they might not see him as such a stickler. Not that he cared what they thought; he just wanted a promotion.  
The bear's eyes lit up.  
"You would be willing to let me stay with you? Why, thank you so much! That is more than I could ever ask for! Yes, I will gladly accept your offer!" The bear exclaimed. Arthur nodded. Now, he had a legitimate reason to miss tonight's ridiculous dinner. Although, what he was doing now was slightly ridiculous in and of itself. He just hoped he made the right choice.

Arthur escorted the bear back to the train and handed him his marmalade sandwich to eat along the way. If he really hadn't eaten in at least a day surely he did not want to wait until they got back to Arthur's flat for a meal. As the last few people loaded on the train, Arthur asked the bear,

"Would you mind telling me your name?"

"I don't have a name. Well, I only have a bear name, that is to say, but they don't translate very well into English," the bear replied. Arthur huffed.

"Ridiculous. Everyone needs a name, even a bear." Arthur looked at the people around him. Some of them were gawking at the sight of a man in ridiculous clothes sitting next to a small bear. He huffed and looked out the window to purposely ignore them. His eyes wandered to the sign post where he had met the bear just a few moments earlier.

 **Paddington Station** it read.

"What about Paddington? That is where I found you," Arthur suggested. The bear's ears perked up and he turned to Arthur after biting into the sandwich.

"Paddington. Yes, I think that will do me just fine. And what, my dear sir, is your name?" Paddington asked.

"Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. But you can call me Mr. Kirkland," Arthur specified. Paddington seemed slightly disappointed, but he nodded. The doors closed and the train started moving.

"All right, Mr. Kirkland. Where are you from, may I ask? Have you always lived here in London?" Arthur refused to look at the bear, instead watching the tunnel fly by outside the window.

"No, you may not ask. The past is irrelevant. What matters is the future," Arthur answered. He watched the bear's reaction through a reflection in the window. He was clearly upset. His ears appeared droopy and his eyes were full of rejection.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you," he apologized. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but couldn't quite muster up the courage. Finally, he breathed deeply and took the plunge. "However, I have to disagree with you. I come from darkest Peru, and my Aunt Lucy always says that your past is important. If you don't remember your past mistakes or successes, how are you to learn from them? What's the point of accomplishing anything just to move right on to another thing without even celebrating your success?" Paddington explained.

"And what is the point of remembering something that was horrid enough to experience in the first place nonetheless a second time, or a third time, or perhaps even a fourth or fifth time?" Arthur and Paddington both were taken aback by his sharp response. His mind's eye suddenly brought up a reel of past images. When he returned to the present moment, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

"Mr. Kirkland? Are you ill?" Paddington asked. His voice was filled with concern and bewilderment. Arthur realized that he was trembling and sweating. He tugged at his shirt collar and wiped the sweat off his brow, all the while trying to slow his breathing.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. I simply… I have a condition that's all. I'll recover in a moment," he replied vaguely. Paddington didn't seem fully convinced, but he didn't press him further. They sat in silence the rest of the way home.

Arthur led the bear to his small flat on the third floor. It was obvious that his house was not on the wealthier, or even _safer_ , side of town, but Paddington said nothing about it. Rather, he seemed quite amazed, as if he had been in that train station his whole life. Arthur gave a side glance at his wondrous face. His small, dark eyes appeared not to take it all in properly.

"Have you never seen a dumpy flat before?" Arthur finally question as they walked up the dim stairwell. Paddington was surprised.

"Dumpy flat? Well, I haven't exactly seen any flats. As I said before, I'm from darkest Peru. I only recently arrived in England a few days ago after stowing aboard a cargo vessel. I used what little money my Aunt Lucy had to give me to travel to London and then to Paddington station only to realize I had nothing for food or shelter, so I just stayed there."

"You traveled all the way to London from Peru by yourself? I thought you were just a cub!" Arthur declared, mildly impressed. Perhaps this bear was more grown up than Arthur had realized.

"Oh, I'm definitely not a grown bear yet, Mr. Kirkland. My Aunt Lucy wanted to come with me, but she is too old to travel that far. In the end, she decided that I was at least old enough to get here safely, and she was right!" He clarified, grinning happily as he did. Arthur didn't respond. Instead he unlocked the door to his flat and began to realize that this might throw a small kink in his plans. Arthur had planned on escorting the bear home the very next day, but if the bear had only arrived a few days ago… He would not have a home to be escorted to. Arthur gave a quiet sigh as he realized that this bear's stay might be a bit longer than he had hoped. _I'll give him one week to find somewhere to go._ He thought to himself. _One week._

Arthur suddenly groaned as he heard an all too familiar noise behind him. It was the opening of a door.

"Well, what do we have here? Arthur seems to have a heart after all," came a thickly French-accented voice behind him. Paddington jumped on this opportunity.

"Is this your neighbor, Mr. Kirkland? A pleasure to meet you, I'm Paddington from darkest Peru. Mr. Kirkland is allowing me to spend the night with him until I find somewhere else to stay," Paddington introduced. The man laughed. It was horridly, stereotypically French.

"Mr. Kirkland?! Arthur, you fool, I take back my earlier statement: you really don't have a heart. How does this benefit your business, hmm? I can't wait to hear that story later… I'm Francis, 'Mr. Kirkland's' kinder, better looking neighbor," Francis replied. Arthur scowled as he opened the door to his flat.

"Ignore him, Paddington, and stay away from him at all costs; he's a perverted frog," Arthur warned. Francis frowned. He didn't exactly appear offended, rather simply disappointed.

"I'm hurt, Arthur. At least I allow myself to feel something other than bitterness and despair. Oh, and I'm inviting some friends over tonight so I apologize ahead of time for the ruckus," he added. Arthur squeezed the bridge of his nose. He could already begin to feel a headache approaching.

"Don't tell me it's that ghastly Spaniard and that… Where is he from again? Germany?"

"Yes, he is German. Though he'll tell you he's Prussian; don't ask me why." Britain shook his head.

"Ridiculous. Please don't get too drunk. I have a lot to do tomorrow, and I would like to at least get a semblance of sleep," the Brit pleaded. Francis gave a mischievous grin.

"I can't make any promises. Good night, old man."

He winked as he began to return to his own dwelling right across from Arthur's.

"Just stay quiet at least, drunkard," Arthur replied as he shut the door behind him and Paddington.

Francis heard a quick, friendly, "Good night, Francis! It was a pleasure to meet you!" from the bear right before the lock clicked. The Frenchman sighed, and his eyes couldn't help but linger on the door just a few moments longer.

 _Someday,_ he thought, before closing his own door.


	2. Chapter 2: A Ridiculous Evening

Arthur Kirkland was a curious fellow. In certain ways, one might say he is slightly obsessive compulsive. In other ways, he simply does not care at all. Take his appearance for example. One might gaze at his clothing for days and not find a speck, rip, or wrinkle on it. They might not find anything particularly _attractive_ or _fashionable_ about them, but they would be absolutely spotless. His hair, however, might not even appear to have been brushed that day. That, however, is not completely his fault. Poor Arthur inherited an unruly head of hair that can never decide whether it is curly or straight, so it settles on a strange sort of tousled appearance that rather looks as if he is constantly receiving noogies. (If you do not know what a noogie is, allow me to explain. A noogie happens when person A either loves or hates person B and wants to publicly express this emotion in a socially acceptable fashion that is not considered 'bullying' or 'public displays of affection.' Person A then approaches person B, usually from behind, and vigourously rubs person B's head with his fist. Most people do not consider this to be a pleasant experience, but either way, it leaves person B's hair in a rather desperate situation. Not that this ever actually happens to Arthur because no one knows him well enough to either love or hate him to the degree of imparting a noogie. Although I cannot speak for Francis.)

If you would like another example, you might visit his flat sometime. The flat is located in a very dangerous part of town. It looks as if it has not seen a fresh coat of paint in twenty years, because it has not. It looks as if it houses a bunch of bums, criminals, and other unruly folk, because it does. It looks as if feral dogs like to pee on the front door mat to display dominance over the tenants, because they do, and everyone dwelling there is absolutely terrified of those dogs. But, there is a certain flat on the third floor, Arthur's flat, which looks exactly like all the other flats. On the outside, that is. When you open the door, you are met with a rather wondrous sight. Gone are your feelings of concern. Gone is your desperate cling to whatever you might have been carrying. Gone is the pee smell from the feral dogs' dominion over the door mat. Instead, you are transported to a lovely flat on the high end of London. The furniture, though simple, is high end and luxurious. The walls are painted with pleasing colours, and the decoration is actually quite elegant. Not a crack or stain is anywhere to be found. One might even swear that no one lived there, because it is so neat.

Thus, the moment Arthur closed the door behind him and the small bear that just ate a sticky marmalade sandwich and had been living in the train station for several days after a long cargo ride from _darkest bloody Peru_ , he realized what a grave mistake he had made.

"Why don't you, ah, get washed up while I prepare your room… Do you sleep in a bed?" Arthur wondered, suddenly remembering that he was hosting a bear not a person.

"Why yes, I do, thank you. Could you show me where I am to clean up so I might do just that?" Paddington asked. Arthur pointed it out and took his hat and coat. Paddington thanked him and made his way to the water closet. _Without his clothes, he really does look similar…_ Arthur thought, but he kept this to himself. A slight pang of nostalgia came over him, but the smell of the bear's clothes quickly snapped him out of it.

"They smell like rubbish," he murmured to himself. The first thing he would do when he got home tomorrow was take them to the laundromat. Arthur then made sure that his guest room was ready. The extra bedroom also served as his home office space(although he used it much more often as a study than a guest room). He cleaned off the desk and neatened some of the supplies, but the rest of the room was spotless. He then went into the kitchen to make himself a marmalade sandwich as his had been given away. That may have been the one thing he and the bear seemed to have in common: an appreciation for marmalade sandwiches. Arthur, personally, had been raised on them and had always loved them. He ate them everyday, he did. He remembered how he was teased about it too. Mostly just by Alfred, who didn't like the stuff.

 _Alfred…_

Arthur sighed and rubbed his temple. A light headache throbbed at the back of his consciousness. He tried not to think about that name. It brought up too many bad memories. There had been some good ones, too, but they were all tainted darkly now. Arthur shook his head and bit into his sandwich, trying to distract his troubled spirit with a physical remedy. It never worked, but it was always worth a shot.

After eating and cleaning up after himself, he began to feel sleepy. Only when he yawned widely did he realize that it was already ten o'clock. He hadn't lied to Francis about having a lot of work to do the next day. Where was that bear? He only then realized that he had never emerged from the water closet. Arthur walked over to the door and gave a small knock.

"Paddington? Are you all right?" He asked cautiously. He thought he heard the sound of the shower running.

"I'm, quite all right-Mr. Kirkland! Yes… Everything's fine!" Paddington answered. He didn't sound at all fine, and his words were interspersed with strange banging and crashing noises. Arthur huffed and reached for the door handle.

"What on earth is going on-" he was interrupted by a spray of water in his face. He swore, and when he opened his eyes he saw that it was the shower head that had sprayed him. He took the horror of the room in. Then, he quickly leaned over and turned the shower off. The water stopped and Paddington seemed relieved. Arthur looked at the room again. He swore again, too.

Firstly, the entire room was soaked. Secondly, there was a brownish, gooey muck on the floor that he could not identify. He couldn't even begin to understand what had happened with the shower curtain, and Paddington himself had soap and some other strange substance clumped all throughout his fur. Arthur finally sighed and ran his hands through his damp hair.

"I'm going to ask this as calmly as I can," he prefaced. "What. Happened. Here." He said the last three words through gritted teeth. He was trying not to swear again. He didn't like swearing in front of children or bear cubs.

"Well, ah, you see, I came in here to clean up. I turned your… rain device-"

"Shower head."

"Yes, I turned that on, and I started to rinse off. But, you see, I had not realized that when the dirt washed _off_ of me, it would wash _onto_ the floor."

"You weren't actually in the shower? You were using the shower head on the floor?" Arthur asked, incredulous.

"Yes. I turned it so it could reach me. Then there was a lot of mud on the floor, so I realized that I should clean it up. I grabbed the first soapish item that I found, and squeezed it onto the dirt," Paddington continued. _Squeezed?_

"You tried to use toothpaste to clean the floor?" Arthur clarified, rubbing his temple.

"Is that what that greenish stuff is? It's for teeth? Well, yes, I used it on the floor, but it didn't seem to help so I thought I'd just try to mop it up-"

"With the shower curtain."

"With the long sheet hanging right here conveniently, yes. It wasn't very absorbing, however, and only seemed to make things worse. That was when I found the real soap in the, ah…"

"Shower."

"Yes! So I started to use that but I needed to wash it more closely so-"

"Let me guess. You took the shower head off and tried to wash the floor, but you could not control it because the power setting was too high so it ended up just spraying everywhere else _but_ the one spot you actually needed to clean instead?" Arthur suggested. Paddington's eyes lit up with delight.

"Yes! That's exactly what happened! You're very good at this, Mr. Kirkland, you should be a detective," the bear praised. Arthur sighed. Considering the bear's civilized manner, he had never thought that he hadn't been in a bathroom before. He counted to ten in his mind. He ended up continuing the count to twenty just for good measure. At the end of it, he sighed deeply.

"All right, then," he announced. "I'll show you how to wash yourself off properly and clean this god-awful mess up. As soon as you and the room are clean, we are both going to bed. It's been a long day, and I have important business tomorrow, understood?" Paddington nodded gravely. With that, Arthur motioned for the bear to get in the tub and shower combination. He did so, and Arthur himself laid a towel out on the floor so he might kneel and not ruin his clothes. Now he really needed to visit the dry cleaners.

Paddington struggled inside the tub, because he kept slipping and skittering on the slick sides. Since he couldn't gain proper balance, Arthur ended up washing the bear all himself. As he scrubbed the soap into the bear's fur, Paddington played with the bubbles. They fascinated him, and he couldn't keep himself from giggling. Arthur scolded him for being too loud at one point, but the bear's joyous mood was contagious. Soon, even Arthur was smiling. Paddington happened to glance over and notice, but he didn't say anything at first. He simply kept attempting to subtly steal another look. Finally, as they were on the final rinse, Arthur addressed it.

"What do you keep looking at me like that for?" he interrogated. Paddington's eyes darted away as if trying to pretend it hadn't happened.

"Nothing," he lied. But Arthur was actually not in a sour mood, so he pressed.

"No, it was something. What were you looking at? Is there soap on my face?" he asked. It was the nicest tone he had ever used with Paddington. Perhaps he was just delirious after the long day and late hour. Either way, Paddington was glad for it.

"Well, I was just noticing how handsome you look when you smile. It really suits you, you know. Smiling," the bear admitted shyly. Arthur's bemused expression became one of surprise. He wasn't sure how to respond to that.

Everyone he ever knew was always trying to get him to smile. His colleagues used to prank or surprise him in order to make him do it. It never worked. He would go out to eat at his favorite restaurant, and the owner, who he knew very well and might would even consider him "a friend," would tell him to stop frowning or he'd upset the other customers. Francis was constantly trying to see him smile. But he never did. Maybe it was out of spite, or maybe it was because he always remembered the things that used to make him smile. The people who used to make him smile. Alfred used to always tell him that his smile was crooked.

There went that name again. Twice in one night. He really needed to get to bed.

"All right. You're all clean. Here's a towel to dry off with, then off to bed with you!" Arthur declared. Paddington was disappointed that the moment seemed to have ended, but he did as he was told. Meanwhile, Arthur finished cleaning up the bathroom. Despite the enormous amount of mess, he was finished in a matter of minutes. Paddington gave a small, final shake of his fur and congratulated him.

"You're an excellent cleaner, Mr. Kirkland! Your house is spotless! I'll try my very best not to dirty it anymore." Arthur wiped his brow and examined his work.

"That would be much appreciated, Paddington." Although he had a feeling that he was hoping too much to take the bear at his word.


	3. Chapter 3: A Ridiculous Announcement

((You guys are so awesome! Thanks for all your support and willingness; knowing I have readers like you makes me keep writing!

Also, just FYI, I try to update on Tuesdays. So, you can check for it on other days, but it's probably not going to be there until Tuesday XD ))

Young Arthur hoped he'd get a foster family soon. He was 8, and he was tired of the other boys at the orphanage picking on him. He tried very hard to defend himself, but he wasn't very big or strong. They would always wait for a time when they could corner him so he couldn't run, because he was a very fast runner. It just wasn't fair. Why did they pick on him? Yes, he still played with stuffed toys, but he was only 8. He wasn't a grown up yet. Now, here we was again, cornered in a small alley near the London Home for Orphaned Boys. It was supposed to be a time when they could go out and play after the chores and before tea. Arthur always went to the park, but today he was delayed.

"Come on, Arthur, give up your stupid toy," one of them said. Arthur only ever interacted with them during these times of bullying, so he didn't even know their names.

"No! Besides, I don't even have him with me! Just leave me alone," Arthur argued. Two of them laughed.

"We're only doing this for your own good," one of them said. He didn't quite sound English. Irish, maybe? Arthur was young and couldn't always differentiate between them.

"Yeah, that pile o' rubbish is spoiling you. You need to learn what the real world is like," the other said again. This was usually the point where one of them hit him. It was often the biggest one who didn't talk much. Arthur started to tear up.

"Please, just leave me alone! I didn't ask for you to teach me anything, please!" His throat caught and he tried not to cry. Then they would bully him even more.

"We're just here to help," the biggest one said. In a strange way, he sounded genuine about it. Arthur couldn't see how on earth beating up a boy smaller than they was helpful to _him_ , but he didn't say anything. Couldn't, really, without starting to sob. Then, the strangest thing happened. A smaller, even younger voice than his piped up.

"Hey! You should weave him awone!" They all turned to the voice to find a tiny boy, at the most only 5 years of age. He stood with his hands on his hips like a disapproving mother. His face would look terrifying on any adult, but was only comical on his soft, baby features. But the thing that most truck Arthur was his accent. It was one of the few that he could identify.

His accent was American.

The three bullies laughed, extremely bemused by this act of foolish valour.

"Go back inside, lad. You're getting in the way," one said. The little boy huffed. He started walking, but in the wrong direction: _towards_ the bullies. Arthur tried to protect him as best as he could think.

"No, I'm fine, really, please go back inside! I'm quite all right!" he insisted. The boy ignored him and approached the biggest one. Despite his very serious expression, no one could take him seriously. Arthur heard their stifled chuckles. Suddenly, the small boy did something quite unexpected. He motioned the big boy down to his own height. Still amused, he obliged. Then, the little stranger punched him right in the nose. I know this doesn't sound frightening, and it really shouldn't have been. But, somehow, the boy had unnatural strength. Needless to say, the bully reeled backward, nose bleeding. The other boys were stunned, unsure of how to respond. After a few moments of shocked silence, the bleeding boy finally laughed. It was a genuine, hearty laugh. Everyone was confused then.

"You got spirit, boy. All right, I'll let you two off this time," he announced. At which point, the other two helped their leader up and carried him off to get cleaned up. Once they were out of sight, the little boy walked over to Arthur and held his hand out to shake.

"Hi. I'm Awfwed. Awfwed Jones. You can call me Awfie," he introduced. Arthur blinked a couple times. The little boy-Alfred-did not seem at all fazed by this encounter. Perhaps Arthur shouldn't be either? Arthur took the small hand and shook it.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland. Ah, thank you," he responded. The little boy saluted him with a grave expression on his face.

"No pwobwem. It's my duty as hewo of Wondon to hewp peopwe in need!" Arthur smiled slightly.

"Hero of London?" He nodded. "Well, Alfred, Hero of London, perhaps you'd like to come play with me in the park? I can introduce you to my friend," Arthur offered. Alfred nodded eagerly.

"Yes, pwease! I wove the park!" The two then started walking together while Alfred chattered. "I wove the swings, cause they make you fwy! And I wove the swide cause you go weawwy fast! And I wove the-"

The alarm blared in Arthur's face. He quickly shut it off, allowing his mind to wake up as well as his body. He blearily sat up, remembering his dream. He had dreamed about the time he had met Alfred. Or the time Alfred had met him, really. Why on earth would he dream about something like that now? _It's that bear_ , he remembered. _He's bringing up bad memories._ He needed to find that bear a home. Thankfully, it was Friday. He would go to work today, but tomorrow and Sunday they could spend the whole day looking for places for him to go. Then, he could put this whole business behind him and hold a better name for himself in the office. His boss said he needed to be more personable if he wanted a position in management. Well, he would show him.

Arthur quickly got out of bed and prepared himself for the day ahead. When he came out of his room, he was dressed in a brown business suit. It was casual Friday after all. He was impeccably clean, and his hair was surprisingly tame. It was a good start to a good day. He sucked in a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. He choked on his own air. In comparison to the previous night's escapade, the mess was rather insignificant. Arthur, however, was accustomed to flawless cleanliness.

It really was not that horrid. Several slices of toast lay across the countertop and small patches of marmalade were scattered about as well. Crumbs were everywhere, but, all in all, the mess was what one would expect to be made from a small child making marmalade sandwiches. Rather, a small bear in this case.

Before Arthur could say anything, Paddington held up a small brown sack.

"I made your luncheon! I assume you do like marmalade sandwiches, considering you have three jars…" Paddington announced. Arthur sighed. Yes, he always kept a couple extra jars in case something happened and he unexpectedly ran out. A marmalade famine would be the end of him.

"I suppose I should say thank you. Please have this mess cleaned up by the time I get back. It's Friday, so I'll be home by five o'clock. Do stay out of trouble," Arthur explained. The bear nodded and held the sack out for him. Arthur grabbed it and couldn't help but pause. He did feel a small moment of nostalgia. Suddenly, he was just a child again.

 _It's my first day of school!_ Younger Arthur chanted excitedly. His mother handed him a brown paper sack with a marmalade sandwich inside.

 _I'm so proud of you. Be sure to learn, but don't forget to have fun!_ she said. He giggled and they hugged before she sent him off.

Arthur shook himself out of the moment. He glanced at Paddington, who was watching him curiously.

"Thank you," Arthur muttered before he walked out the door.

After the door shut behind Arthur, the flat grew eerily quiet. Well, not that it hadn't been quiet before, but now it also felt _empty._ Bears are similar to dogs in that they could almost sense human presences. Dogs always seem to find their masters, and they can often even understand their emotions. Even a cub like Paddington could _feel_ when someone was nearby. Although Mr. Kirkland came across as stiff and selfish, he didn't feel that way. Paddington hoped that he might find out why. He liked Mr. Kirkland, despite others' warnings. Besides, he must not be all bad if he liked marmalade sandwiches. Paddington adored marmalade sandwiches.

But now, the flat was empty, and Paddington felt it. The first thing he did was clean up his mess. He first put away the bread and marmalade. Then he wiped off the counter. The crumbs spilled onto the floor. He wondered if he should clean those up, but, surely, Mr. Kirkland wouldn't notice a few crumbs? He shrugged to himself and went back to his room. There, he made the bed. He hadn't had time to earlier that morning, because as soon as he awoke, he got up to make Mr. Kirkland(and his own) his sandwich. Paddington neatened the blankets. He walked over to his small suitcase which he had set by the desk. He was distracted, however, by a small stack of papers on top of the desk. Curious, he picked one up. He couldn't quite make sense of all the numbers and codes, but he could see that it was supposed to be a building. His eyes drifted to the other papers on the desk. They were all designs for some sort of grand house. Paddington's eyes lit up. So, Mr. Kirkland was designed buildings? Paddington liked that idea. He thought that it must be such fun to design houses and offices for people. He had only just been introduced to big-city buildings, and they all amazed him so. To be able to create them must be magnificent!

"So, you haven't heard the news? They announced it last night at the banquet," Matthew explained. Arthur had just gotten to work only to find his colleagues in an unusual buzz for a Friday morning. Matthew was a young Canadian who had interned under Arthur a few years back. For some reason unbeknownst to the rest of the office workers, Matthew had taken quite a liking to Arthur and had, after his internship ended, stayed on as his assistant architect. He was a quiet fellow. He struggled to work in a large team like many of his coworkers because he could never voice his opinions quite loud enough. He preferred his arrangement with Arthur. Although he sometimes did some menial tasks, Arthur was wont to ask Matthew's thoughts from time to time, and tried his best to let the boy contribute. He was the only person in the office who might be called Arthur's 'friend.'

"No, I didn't quite make it to the banquet last night. I ended up meeting a homeless bear from darkest Peru," Arthur announced casually, as if he picked up homeless bears on a daily basis. Matthew grew oddly excited.

"A bear? That sounds quite exciting; perhaps he could meet Mr. Kumarijo sometime," Matthew suggested. He had his own bear companion: a small polar bear. Arthur swore his name was different every time Matthew said it. He had met the bear only once, and the only thing he heard it say was, "Who are you?" Arthur wouldn't have considered it strange except that the bear hadn't been addressing it to him but to Matthew himself. It was a strange relationship, indeed.

"Yes, well, my goal is to find him a proper home of his own. We are going to look for one over the weekend," Arthur clarified. He needed to make it clear that this was not permanent, lest anyone get any ideas. Including himself.

"Oh, well, if you need any help, I'm not busy so feel free to call," Matthew offered. Arthur nodded. "So last night, they announced that the Westovers are looking for an architecture firm to design their next building. Mr. Westover is building a multifunctional center, big enough to host conferences and royal balls and festivals! He wants it to be unique and creative, so he's inviting architects all over England to submit their designs. Mr. Westover will then pick his favorite." This was big news indeed. The Westovers were an extremely wealthy family who had connections with the royal family themselves. Their company title, Quintessent, was known all over London, and their family crest could be seen on products from bath towels to raw chicken. Their main business, however, consisted of hotels and restaurants. But, every now and again, they might do something a little different like this center.

"Fascinating. Naturally, the chosen architect would gain much fame and respect for himself and his company…" Arthur mused. Matthew nodded.

"Oh yes. A lot of people in the office are making teams and working together."

"Working together? Hmmm. Well, I suppose if you'd like to join them, Matthew, you can. But, I think I'll keep to myself. You're welcome to help if you like."

"Oh, of course I'll stay with you, Mr. Kirkland, if you really don't mind. Do you have any… Ideas?" The Canadian asked. He seemed hesitant. Arthur felt he wanted to say more but was holding himself back out of politeness.

"Let me guess, the others don't think I can be creative enough? You can be honest," he asked. Matthew bit his lip uneasily.

"They said that… That you didn't have a creative bone in your body. What with all the, eh, simple designs you always submit." Arthur sighed.

"I feel they probably used the word 'boring,' but thank you for being gentle, Matthew. Yes, I can see why they might think that. Better for them to be surprised then, don't you think?"

Paddington grew excited. He wanted to see the whole layout of this design Mr. Kirkland had made. He realized, however, that there was no room. The bear then quickly gathered up the papers and brought them into the living room. There, he scooted the coffee table over to one of the bare walls so he might have room on the floor. He then eagerly laid all the papers out. They showed this intriguing house from all different angles and perspectives. It took Paddington about an hour and a sandwich later to understand the strange language and numbers on the plans. Finally, he began to visualize the house in his mind. The house was made to look like a forest. The front hall was filled with pillars and beams that looked like tree trunks and branches. There were to be a few small, actual trees inside as well. The walls were to be painted to fit the scene, and a skylight was supposed to be visible far above between the pillar's branches. A proper, indoor forest it was. Paddington grew ever so excited. He wondered if the house were already built, and if Mr. Kirkland might take him to see it. Maybe that's where Paddington could live. It would feel much more like home then. The thought of it was simply splendid: his own private forest in the heart of London!

He started to bring the papers back into the study when he became distracted by something in the hall. It was a laundry basket filled with the previous night's messy cloths and his own hat and coat. What he had really noticed, however, was the smell. How dreadful it was! This would not do. Paddington could not allow his mess to stink up the whole flat like they were. He realized what he needed to do. He would wash them! Then, when Mr. Kirkland came home, he would show how mature and responsible and _clean_ he was. Surely, he would be happy to not have to clean them.

He was startled out of these thoughts by a knock on the door. He wasn't quite sure how to respond. Mr. Kirkland had given him a few rules the night before about safety. One of the things he had stressed was to not open the door to strangers. The door knocked again and Paddington panicked.

"Hello? Paddington? Are you all right?" A French accent asked. He breathed a sigh of relief. Paddington opened the door to see Mr. Francis standing in the door. He wasn't a stranger, so Paddington wasn't breaking Mr. Kirkland's rule.

"Yes, I'm quite fine. How are you this morning?" Paddington asked politely. He noticed Francis was dressed rather oddly. His clothes were very fancy, but he was holding a white apron. His long, wavy hair was tied back in a low ponytail.

"I'm a little bit tired from my… Activities last night, but I'll do. I was about to head to work, but decided to check in on you before I go," he explained.

"Oh, how kindly of you! Please, do come in if you have time!" Paddington invited. Francis hesitated.

"Well, I suppose I have a few minutes." Paddington motioned him in and closed the door after.

"Where do you work?" He asked, curious about his clothes.

"I am but a humble waiter at a French restaurant. It is supposedly the best in London, but the food is disgusting and nothing like true French cuisine. One day, I will own my very own French restaurant which will serve authentic dishes made by yours truly. Then they will know what _real_ French food tastes like," Francis complained.

"Well, I can't wait to go there someday and try real French food. I haven't even had fake French food!" The bear exclaimed. The Frenchman laughed.

"Then I'll have to cook some for you! I've offered to cook for Arthur several times, but he always refuses. Perhaps you might be able to change his mind." Francis suddenly noticed the many papers strewn throughout the floor. "What are those?" Paddington glanced to them.

"Oh! Those are some designs I found by Mr. Kirkland in his study," Paddington answered. The neighbor crouched near the floor so he might get a better look at them. He was in awe.

"They're astonishing. Arthur is a very talented architect! And here I though he only made boring office buildings…" Paddington cocked his head in confusion.

"Architect?" Francis smiled.

"An architect is someone who designs buildings. It often takes a very creative person to be one. I always knew there was more to his stuffy demeanor. _That's_ the man I love…" He muttered the last part under his breath so no one might hear it but himself. Bears, however, have very strong hearing. Paddington's ears perked.

"You love Mr. Kirkland? Is he your brother?" He asked, very perplexed. Francis was caught off guard at first, but quickly recovered with a laugh.

"Not that kind of love, Paddington," he clarified. But the poor bear was still dreadfully confused. Francis simply stood to go. Paddington was from darkest Peru, it was only natural for him to be slightly befuddled.

"I must be heading out. You will be all right until Arthur gets home, yes?" Francis asked. Paddington nodded.

"Although I do have one question," he asked. "What soap do I use to wash cloths with? Last night I used the wrong one and made a dreadful mess. Mr. Kirkland was very cross…"

"I imagine he would be. Arthur doesn't have a washing machine, so you will need to visit the laundromat. I'd suggest you wait until Arthur gets home. A bear like you shouldn't be galavanting alone across London," Francis explained.

"A washing machine," repeated Paddington. Francis walked out the door, but he leaned in momentarily before closing it.

"And, ah, why don't we keep this little visit to ourselves? Thank you, Paddington," Francis said. He winked and then closed the door shut behind him. Paddington was left to ponder on these words.

Arthur immediately went to work. He would create such a stunning design that it would blow everyone in his office away. He would prove that he were worthy of that promotion. For hours, he slaved away, sketching out idea after idea after idea. When lunchtime finally rolled around, he had not thought of anything… stunning. He huffed at his own lack of originality. He used to be able to think up all sorts of unique ideas and designs, things no one had ever heard one time he needed it, he could not seem to summon it from within himself. What had changed?

He growled and threw away yet another paper. There was a knock on his door.

"Who is it?!" he snapped, angry only with himself.

"It-it's Matthew," the timid voice answered. Arthur ran his hands through his tousled hair and invited the boy in. "I just came in to ask if you were going to take your lunch break. It's getting late, and-"

"You've been waiting to eat with me again, haven't you, Matthew?" Arthur interrupted. The Canadian blushed and stammered, which was answer enough. Arthur sighed. "I'll come eat, then," he relented. Matthew nodded and disappeared, presumably to retrieve his meal. The Brit could not help but smile once he had gone.

In the small, communal kitchen set aside for meals, the entire office lingered over their food, discussing the announcement. Matthew and Arthur sat at one of the few two-seater tables near the corner, listening in on the conversation.

"It's practically an office competition at this point, the way everyone has divided into teams," Ludwig commented. He was a very talented German architect who had come to their company only a year back. His designs were sturdy and clean, yet attractive in their own way. They were always extremely practical as well. Much like he was actually.

"And our team is gonna win!" Feliciano, usually called 'Feli,' exclaimed. He was a small Italian who ate more than he worked. Arthur had only ever seen one of his designs, and the only word he could think to describe it was _roman_.

"Considering the amount of people submitting a design in this office, one can assume that every other architect company in London is submitting at least half as many designs. That is not even including freelance architects, and that is already a very large amount of submissions. In conclusion, our probability of winning is actually very low," Kiku countered. Kiku was Arthur's only other friend in the office. He was a Japanese realist, which Arthur appreciated. Clearly, he had joined Ludwig and Feliciano in coming up with a design. With their combined strengths, they would be a difficult team to beat.

"Arthur, are you on a team?" One of the Intern's asked. Well, he wasn't actually an intern anymore. Allow me to explain.

A few years back, three new interns came into the office. Whether by an error in the paperwork or by clever scheming, however, they all were assigned to the same person: Ivan Braginski. Ivan was a very large Russian man whom the entire office was intimidated by. Naturally, when they heard that he would be receiving all the interns, they were disappointed. No one dared to argue, however. The poor interns were practically slaves to the Russian man. Though each intern had introduced themselves individually and explained that they were all from different countries-Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia-no one was able to remember which was which. Eventually, they became known as "the Interns." Although they had ceased to be interns for at least a year now, no one had ceased in forgetting their names. Thus, the term lives on.

"No," Arthur admitted nonchalantly. Suddenly, he felt enormous arms wrap warmly around his neck and shoulders.

"You could always join my team. The Interns would love to have you join us," a Russian accent spoke beside his ear. His tone was unnaturally cheery, but his intentions sinister. Arthur tried not to visibly tremble in fear. Matthew, sitting across from him, already was.

"No, thank you, but I'm working with Matthew. Matthew and I created our own team," the Brit explained frantically. Matthew nodded across the way. Ivan relinquished his… embrace?

"That is fine. If you want to change your mind, I am always open for new members…" He purposely left the last part open-ended. Arthur and Matthew both nodded quickly. "Come on, Interns, let us get back to work!" Ivan called. The Interns forced the rest of their meals down their throats and rushed to follow behind the man. Once they had exited, silent relief flooded everyone still present.

"Ivan is scary," Feliciano stated. No one said anything else, because nothing else needed to be said. Conversation resumed after a few moments as they all finished up their remaining bites. They were all caught off guard, however, when an unexpected visitor arrived. It was a tall man with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He wore sleek glasses and a huge, sparkling grin. His clothes consisted of a simple button-up shirt and tie with khaki pants.

All of this was seen in an instant as he burst through the door shouting,

"Guess who's the best real estate agent in all of London? Perhaps even the world? It's me! Alfred Jones!"

Everyone practically jumped out of their chairs, startled by his sudden and loud appearance. Arthur's stomach dropped. He worried that he might throw up his entire lunch right then and there.

"Oh, Alfred," Kiku said softly, "I didn't know that you were visiting the office today."

"Well, when I heard about that crazy design contest thingy, I knew I had to come by and tell you my story! That property the Westover's bought? I sold it to 'em. Let me tell you, it's one of the best sales I ever made. I mean, the place is a complete dump-it's just a huge crap-hole of a lot in an awful part of town-and I convinced him that it was worth a ton of money because it had _potential_. I was so stunned that he actually believed me! Then, I hear about this crazy competition he's doing to make it some sort of community conference center or somethin'. He actually took my word for it! I was just making up crap for him to buy the property and it worked! You should hear how much he bought it for too!" Alfred explained as he sat down next to Kiku. Arthur was fuming inside. He felt the urge to say something, but he had no idea what he would say. He obviously had not noticed Arthur sitting in the corner, or he would have addressed him already. Matthew seemed to sense that something was wrong.

"Uh, Mr. Kirkland, are you all right?" he asked hesitantly. Arthur looked at him to respond, but he froze. Only then did he notice the resemblance between Matthew and Alfred. They were strikingly similar. They practically had the same exact face, but they wore it so differently that Arthur had never made the connection before. He was never able to respond to Matthew's statement, however. He suddenly noticed the shadow looming over him. Arthur turned to find Alfred staring at him. His mouth hung open, saying nothing-for once in his life, Arthur thought-and his eyes were full of surprise.

"Artie?" was all he finally managed to say.

"Who's Artie?" Feli asked in the background. Arthur grit his teeth.

"It's Mr. Kirkland now. Do remember that," he strained. Alfred looked hurt. Arthur got up from the table and threw his waste away, ignoring Alfred's presence. As Arthur passed the other architects, he observed Kiku's shocked expression.

"You two know each other?" he asked, completely perplexed.

"Yeah," Alfred answered. Arthur stopped and turned around.

"We used to," he countered. Alfred grew angry.

"What's wrong with you, man? It's been years, can't you get over it?!" Arthur fumed.

"Get over it?! You want _me_ to get over it? You're acting like it's all my fault now that it even happened. _You're_ the one who ruined everything, not me!" he shouted.

"And I said I was sorry, but you ignored me! I tried to call; I tried to contact you! I even sent you a letter, but you kept pushing me away!" Alfred yelled. They were only inches from each other now. Surely, he had grown taller since Arthur last saw him. Arthur had not grown taller, and Alfred towered over him unnaturally. He clenched his fists.

"But _you_ left," Arthur muttered, quiet enough so only Alfred heard. Alfred looked like he'd been punched in the gut. His eyes became glassy, and he winced at the unwelcome memories. Before he could respond, Arthur turned on his heel and exited the room, holding back his own set of tears as well.


	4. Chapter 4: A Ridiculous Encounter

Paddington was rather distressed. By lunchtime, he realized that he absolutely _must_ do something about the dirty laundry. The flat was beginning to smell simply horrid, and he could not bear to see Mr. Kirkland come home to a smell like that. Francis had said that Mr. Kirkland didn't own a washing machine. Paddington had found this rather curious considering how clean the Brit always was, so he had immediately begun to look around the flat for one. He had no idea what one might look like, but he assumed that he would know it when he saw it. After searching the entire flat, however, he came up with nothing-not even a dust bunny. Disappointed and concerned, Paddington found some food in the fridge which he had for lunch. He would have had another marmalade sandwich, but he smelled something delicious and new when he opened the fridge. He pulled out a styrofoam container. It took him a long while to discover how to open it, but when he did he was amazed. He had never seen anything like it before. Mostly, he had never smelled anything like it. He pulled it out and gave it a lick. Surprisingly, it was rather sweet. Paddington liked his initial taste, so he bit into it. It was chicken! But so well flavored! What an incredible sauce! The bear immediately fell in love and ate the entire container full.

With his mind off his stomach, however, it fell back to the dirty laundry pile. What was he to do? Paddington glanced around the kitchen again. Hold on a moment! How had he not seen that before? It was a boxish device where some lower cabinets should have been. Perhaps he had never noticed it because it was set into the cabinets. The bear approached the appliance and looked for a way to open it. Surely, it opened? He finally found a handle at the top and pulled the door down.

Inside, there were dishes. Actually, Paddington noticed, they were dirty dishes. This confused the poor bear.

"Why would Mr. Kirkland put dirty dishes in here? Would he not clean them?" he thought aloud. Then, an idea struck him. "Unless, this is a machine that washes them for him… A washing machine!" He was so ecstatic to have found the washing machine. He rushed over to the dirty laundry pile and dragged them into the kitchen. Then, he arranged the cloths on the racks as best he could figure they were supposed to go. He even found a small slot with the word SOAP on it. He assumed that was where the soap was supposed to go.

But now came the most difficult decision: which was the right soap to use? Last night, he had picked the wrong one and ruined everything. Back in Peru, Paddington's small tree house did not have fancy showers and washing machines. They didn't need special kinds of soap; they just used the same kind for everything. All soap cleans, correct? But here in London, there were so many different types of soap that did different things. It was all very confusing to a young bear.

Paddington searched in the nearby cabinets for some sort of soap. He would think it to be kept near the washing machine itself. Finally, he found a cabinet with plenty of soap.

"But which soap is the right one!" He exclaimed. He tried to read the labels, but most of them didn't make sense to him. They had strange, mysterious words such as ammonia and hydrogen peroxide. Paddington had no idea what either of those meant, but they sounded scary. Finally, he found a label that said DISHWASHING LIQUID. Well, considering the washing machine washed dishes as well, surely it was the right one? He found a big bottle that said the same thing, but Paddington didn't need _that_ much soap. He walked back to the washing machine and filled the little 'SOAP' container until it was overflowing.

"That should do it," he concluded. Then, he closed the door. Several lights appeared over different buttons. It took him quite a long while, but Paddington finally set the machine to wash on a 'normal' setting(whatever that meant). "Now I suppose I can sit back and wait until it's done." Paddington liked the washing machine. It made life much easier. Perhaps he was beginning to understand London life.

"I just might become a city bear after all!"

"I would like to request an early leave today," Arthur asked the office manager, Mrs. Minton. She was a friendly lady who liked to promote 'Teamwork, Productivity, and Employee Satisfaction.' She was a mother of three teenagers, but that never kept her from her duties to her own boss and her subordinates. Her hair was dyed silver on top that faded into a mint green on the ends. No one in the office could figure out if she dyed it mint because of her name or because she genuinely liked the color…

"That's quite all right," was all she said. She didn't even look up from her paperwork. Arthur was grateful she did not balk his request, but was also slightly surprised that she did not even bat an eyelash. "You haven't taken a vacation day in three years; go home and rest. If you want to take Monday off too, that's fine as well," she clarified. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but found himself closing it again in stunned silence. He nodded.

"Thank you." She glanced up and made eye contact with him.

"Seriously, Arthur. You don't look well. Please, go home and rest for as long as you'd like." He knew he did not look well. He had just come from his office where he had battled with his emotions for control. Some tears had been shed, and some papers and been ripped, but he had recovered just enough to realize he could not work anymore that day. He needed to get as far away from that building as possible.

He took his leave of Mrs. Minton and gathered his things before quickly exiting the office. He had no desire to speak to anyone else. He needed to go home and process what had just happened.

 _You just saw Alfred, that's what happened,_ he thought. Why was his past fighting its way back to him? Why could he not simply move on already?

Paddington sifted through Mr. Kirkland's bookshelves, trying to find something interesting to read. The only thing he could find, however, were dull reference or architecture books. Paddington sighed and decided to find something else to do. He walked out of the guest room towards the living room. He was very startled at what he found.

"Oh, no," he lamented. "I've done it again. Mr. Kirkland is going to be very cross, very cross, indeed." The entire flat was filled with bubbles. The source? The washing machine. He had picked the wrong soap, yet again. Now, soap spilled out of the washing machine at an unnatural speed. He had to move quickly. Paddington glanced to the clock. It read 2:30. Mr. Kirkland would be home by five, so he had plenty of time to get the flat clear and dry by the time he arrived. He remembered having seen a bucket in a closet during his search of the house, so his first task was to retrieve it. Perhaps he could remove the bubbles? But where would he put them? His eyes darted frantically around the room in search of some sort of escape. Escape...

"Ah ha!" he exclaimed as his eyes settled on the window. That would do. The bear rushed to the window and raised it as high as it could go. Then, he quickly began to dump buckets of bubbles out of it and into the street below. Paddington moved with a frantic speed. It seemed to him, that the more he dumped, the more appeared. He could not move fast enough. Eventually, a small pile of soap began to gather near the entrance to the apartment.

Something was not right. Something did not _smell_ right. It smelled sweet and flowery outside the front of the building. _His_ building. The leader of the infamous feral dogs was furious. How could this have happened? One of his subordinates approached his royal throne in the alley beside the building to inform him of the disturbance, but he already knew. He had the keenest senses of any dog in london, which is why he was the leader. Not that rotten Pit Bull who kept trying to pee on his doormat. _The nerve_. The leader of the feral dogs was a Great Dane who lived up to the title. He looked as if he were born to sit beside the throne of kings. But, he would rather sit on his very own throne-however flea-ridden it may be-than beside the throne of someone else.

His subordinate, a mangy Labrador who was as loyal as they come, led the great leader to the scene of the crime. The Great Dane investigated the soap on the sidewalk. It was quite a large pile, almost as tall as he was. Only then, did he realize that the crime was still being committed. His sharp eyes watched a clump of bubbles fall from a third-story window. This would not do. The Great Dane and his troop had worked for years to get their smell all over this building to the point that they were the alphas. The humans knew that they were the real landlords of this fine establishment. This, then, was an act of pure rebellion against them. Dare he say it, but someone was trying to _clean their building_. Well, this lone revolutionary would need to be taught a lesson.

The Great Dane looked up to the window and told the zealot to stop this madness before he had to take action. He explained that continuation of this act would result in grave consequences for him and everyone else living there. The Labrador approved of this message and gave a few remarks of his own for good measure. Surely, that would shut him up.

Paddington suddenly noticed a dog barking. Curious, he leaned out the window to see where it might be coming from. He discovered that it was actually coming from below him! There, he saw a sleek, black dog, and an enormous dog the size of a pony. They were standing by his soap pile and barking up at him. Paddington did not speak dog, so he had no idea what the creatures were trying to tell him. They did, however, sound very angry. Unfortunately, he had no time to communicate with them, for the bubbles were still coming. He continued his work.

It was a bear, the Great Dane observed as the rebel had peeped out the window. A small one, at that. They could easily take him. Perhaps the humans were not involved then, and it was just this bear. A few other subordinates appeared around the pile and began to join in their accusations. A mob was beginning to form. The feral dogs were shouting at this bear to come out and surrender himself for this act of treason against the mighty Alpha. The Great Dane watched in approval of all this. The bear was bound to give up now.

The dogs were getting louder and more numerous. Paddington, however, knew of nothing else to do.

"I'm sorry if I have offended you!" He called as he dumped another bucket. The bubbles were finally beginning to lessen inside. Outside, there was quite a mound. When Paddington next peeked out, he noticed some people beginning to stare. This was getting worse…

Arthur sighed in relief as he approached home. Despite the early hour, he felt absolutely exhausted. The emotional stress of the day had taken a toll on him. He was ready to spend a calm evening in his flat perhaps reading a book… His ears perked up at the sound of a commotion. Where was it coming from? He tried to decipher what on earth it might be as he walked towards his flat. Curious, it was… The further he walked, the louder the ruckus became. Surely, it was not coming from…

"Bloody heck," he declared(although his version was not quite so friendly). It was right outside his apartment building. His wide eyes took it all in. A large crowd of people had gathered distantly around another crowd of feral dogs which surrounded an enormous pile of bubbles. The dogs were barking ferociously at the bubbles, and the people were shouting ferociously at the dogs. Tenants of the building were popping their heads out of their windows to observe the scenario and shout to the crowd of people which was shouting at the crowd of dogs which was shouting at the crowd of bubbles which was shouting at nothing.

But where were the bubbles coming from? Arthur followed the line directly upward and saw an open third-story window. Small, brown hands leaned out and dumped another bubble pile. No, not hands, _paws._

Arthur had thought he was tired just a few moments ago. He quickly discovered that he was not very tired at all. With a newfound energy, Arthur shouted louder than any other creature present when he said,

"PADDINGTON!" Amazingly enough, everyone went silent. The tenants turned to him. The people turned to him. The feral dogs turned to him. The bubbles did nothing. But, most importantly, a small, furry face appeared in the window. His expression could not be seen well so far away, but his voice was clearly anxious.

"Mr. Kirkland!" came the startled reply. "I-I wasn't expecting you until five," was all the poor voice had to say. The look on Arthur's face was clearly visible even from a distance. Mostly, it was the angle of the eyebrows. Rather quickly, the crowd of people began to disperse along with the other tenants.

The feral dogs awaited the command of their fearless leader. The Great Dane observed the faces of both creatures. Clearly, this was an internal matter that would soon be dealt with. He gave one last bark ordering his crew to return to their posts. He gave one last look to those eyebrows and tried not to shudder. Yes, there was no need to get involved.

Arthur approached the building and stood beside the large pile. The soapy mixture was finally beginning to dissipate naturally, but the pile was still rather impressive. That is, if you find those kinds of things impressive. Arthur did not.

"Might I ask where these bubbles are coming from?" Paddington swallowed hard.

"Well, sir, you may ask, but I might not give an answer," he stammered. Arthur took in a deep breath.

"I'm coming up," he announced. Paddington instantly began to remove more buckets of bubbles. Arthur walked-no, ran-to the entrance. He dashed up the stairs faster than he ever had and unlocked the door with incredible speed. The door flew open and Paddington gave a yell of surprise and fear.

Arthur was stunned. It was worse than he had expected. The entire floor was covered in either bubbles or their remains. Everything in the living room was wet or sticky, not to mention the many crumbs in the kitchen. Was that… Papers, sitting on the living room floor? Why was his coffee table moved to the wall? Arthur stomped over to the dishwasher without saying one word. He ripped it open and found-surprise-more bubbles. He also found clothes. Arthur took a deep breath so he might be able to shout better. He broke his rule of cursing in front of children and small bear cubs. I have done the work of writing out what he said in an appropriate fashion for any audience. Here is the general idea:

"What the bloody(naughty word) happened in this(super naughty word) flat?! I leave for not even a full(super naughty word) day of work, and I come home to this(very naughty word)?! I thought I(super naughty word) told you to not bloody touch anything! Now take a good(super naughty word) look at this(very naughty word). (Naughty word). Do you know how(super naughty word) long this is going to take to clean? What in bloody(naughty word) were you thinking? (Naughty word)."

Poor Paddington hardly understood many of these strange new words he heard, but he could clearly see what was being said.

"I, I just wanted to clean the cloths for you because they smelled… At least they're clean, now, and the house too…" Paddington explained.

"No," Arthur barked, sounding much like the feral dogs had just a few moments ago. "The apartment is not _clean_ , it is only _halfway clean_ , and, the last time I checked, _halfway clean_ is only halfway to _clean_!" Paddington's ears flattened fearfully against his head. "No, no, no, this flat is completely _sticky_ , because when soap sits on a surface and is not washed out, it becomes _sticky._ No, do you know what's going to happen? You're going to take responsibility for your actions and wash the soap out of every sticky surface with _water_ , do you hear me?" Paddington's eyes widened, but he nodded in submission. "Meanwhile, I'm going to rinse out these _sticky_ clothes in the bath." Arthur picked up the clothes. Clearly, Paddington had mistaken the dishwasher for a clothes washer and had used the wrong dishwashing liquid. How could such trivial things cause such big messes? Either way, the overwhelming amount of soap in the dishwasher had left the clothes emerging like everything else: soapy. Arthur walked past the dejected bear and said nothing else. Paddington said nothing else, either.

As Arthur worked, he realized that he may have been slightly harsh on the bear.

"I suppose he's just a bear of very little brain," he mused to himself as he finished rinsing the soap out of the creature's blue coat. He suddenly frowned, thinking of the last time he had used that phrase. He had almost forgotten… Arthur sighed and paused from his work. Even at home, he could not escape his past. What was he to do? Should he try to face it? He was unsure if he were ready for that yet. Perhaps, for the moment, he should try to face the present.

He finished the last item and hung them in different places about the flat to dry. When he entered the living space, he was surprised not to hear the squeak of sticky floors. Paddington looked up from wiping off the kitchen counter.

"I'm just about done, Mr. Kirkland. Everything is nice and smooth," he declared. Arthur felt guilty for all his shouting earlier. The bear had not screwed this up, rather he had worked very hard to finish so quickly. He sighed.

"Thank you, Paddington. I… I'm sorry," he added reluctantly. He had never been good at apologizing. Paddington smiled.

"It's quite all right, Mr. Kirkland. I did make a big mess of the place, didn't I?" He admitted. Arthur relaxed at the bear's forgiving response. He decided to take it another step further.

"You… You can call me Arthur," he stuttered, forcing the words out. Paddington's ears pricked up, as if unsure he heard correctly. His smile grew into a grin.

"Thank you, Arthur." The Englishman cleared his throat.

"Right. Now, tomorrow, we shall begin searching for you a place to live, all right?" Paddington nodded gratefully.

After Paddington had finished cleaning everything, the two of them ate a couple of marmalade sandwiches and held conversation. Paddington did most of the talking, regaling Arthur with tales from his childhood growing up in darkest Peru. Arthur would not admit it, but he was beginning to enjoy the bear's company. The time passed quickly, and Arthur began to yawn.

"It has been a long day. Let's retire to bed, and pick this up in the morning, how about it?" he suggested, standing up and stretching. Paddington nodded.

"All right, Arthur. Thank you again for your hospitality," he replied. Arthur waved away his appreciation.

"Good night, Paddington."

"Good night, Arthur! Sweet dreams!" Paddington exclaimed. _Not very likely_ , Arthur thought. Not the way things had been going recently.


	5. Chapter 5: A Ridiculous Visit

((Here's the full chapter! Sorry I'm so slow… I promise you that I'm working on it. I simply struggle because I'm also trying to rewrite and edit my own original book in hopes of talking to a publisher soon! Needless to say, sometimes I find it difficult to switch from one writing job to the next. But don't worry! I won't abandon this project! I still have a lot more excitement left for this idea and I don't like to leave things half done! Also, feel free to leave a review and tell me where I can improve and where I'm doing well… I'm not afraid of constructive criticism and it might prove helpful for this work and my personal book… thank you all again for sticking with me! Without further ado, here's the full chapter!))

Both Arthur and Paddington had been right. As Arthur slept, he found himself drifting back in time again. Strangely enough, however, he found it rather pleasant.

Young Arthur raced through the park, Alfred trailing behind him.

"Whew awe we going?" Alfred wondered. "We'we passing the pwaygwound," he lamented. Arthur looked back to him with a sparkle in his eye.

"We're going somewhere better than a silly, old park. We're going _beyond_ the park, into the woods," he explained. Alfred's blue eyes widened.

"The Woods? That sounds scawy…" He mumbled. "What if ghosts wive thewe?" Arthur laughed and kept running. Alfred only grew more anxious. After they had passed all the park benches and trails, the two boys came to a small glade in the middle of a grouping of trees. The trees were old and reached high into the sky. Alfred's big eyes followed them upward from their roots. Their branches spread overhead like a roof, encasing the children almost completely within their grasp. Despite his earlier bravado, the young boy shivered.

"Don't be a whimp," Arthur scolded. "This isn't a scary forest, it's just the Hundred-Acre Woods." Alfred scrunched up his nose in confusion. His eyes lowered to meet Arthur's. The other boy's emerald-green eyes seemed to be sparkling as if with magic. Alfred looked into those eyes and let the words sink in.

 _The Hundred-Acre Woods…_

Why, of course. Arthur closed his eyes and laughed gleefully before turning away, expecting Alfred to follow. Alfred looked around again, and the forest seemed different than it had a moment ago. If it were possible, the trees appeared to reach a little bit higher than they had before. The sun was shining a little bit brighter, and the air felt a little bit fresher. What on earth had he been afraid of a few moments ago? Alfred giggled as well and chased after the older boy. A few moments later, they reached a tree with a particularly large trunk. The tree was rooted on a knoll which had been partially hollowed out. There, beneath two large roots, stood a door. Above the door, a sign was hung. A little bell hung beside the door, with a sign beside it as well. Nothing about the small house seemed spectacular, so why was Alfred filled with such anticipation?

Arthur approached the door and knocked before ringing the bell also.

"Pooh? Are you in there, Pooh?" He called. Suddenly, the door opened. Alfred was surprised when he saw that it was a small bear that had answered. The bear laughed happily.

"Why, hello there, Arthur. I was hoping you'd come by today! Piglet is coming over for tea," the bear said.

"Splendid!" Arthur exclaimed. "Pooh, I'd like you to meet my new friend, Alfred."

"Awfie," Alfred corrected.

"Yes, Alfie, I'd like you to meet my old friend: Winnie the Pooh!"

"It's a pweasure to meet you," Alfred said, shaking the bear's paw. The bear seemed quite pleased at meeting someone new.

"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine," he said. He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if carefully thinking through each word as he said it. Alfred smiled. He looked cuddly. Alfred glanced back up at the sign above the door. He couldn't read, but he knew his letters. So that must have been the bear's name. Well, now he knew that M-R S-A-N-D-E-R-Z spelled 'Winnie the Pooh.' Pooh chatted softly and went back inside. Arthur followed and motioned for Alfred to do the same. _He was right_ , Alfred thought. _This is way better than the park_.

Arthur woke up softly to the light of the sun and the sound of birds chirping. Slowly, he sat up and checked the time, bleary-eyed. It was 9:16. He was surprised, considering he never slept that late, even on weekends. Then again, he had experienced a busy few days. His dream rushed back into his mind, and he sighed. He did so, however, with a smile on his face. _Those were good times_ , he thought. _What happened to them?_

He was startled by a clanging, metallic sound coming from the kitchen. Paddington. _That silly old bear,_ he could not help but think.

Droopily, Arthur got out of bed and staggered into the kitchen. He was surprised when he was greeted with a delicious smell.

"Good morning, Arthur! I made pancakes! Although, I do believe I made too many…" the small voice of Paddington Bear said. Arthur perked up immediately. Paddington watched anxiously as Arthur's eyes followed the line of pancake mix he had spilled on the floor and countertops. The bear tried not to grimace as Arthur scanned the pile of pots and pans on the floor. He could hardly watch the Brit observe the footprints he had accidentally made when he stepped into the spilled pancake mix on the floor. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, and the bear prepared for impact. Imagine his surprise when he was greeted with a hearty laugh. Paddington's eyes widened and his ears pricked up in curiosity.

"Um, Arthur, are you, all right?" he asked cautiously. After a few more moments of laughter, Arthur recovered enough to reply:

"Yes, Paddington, I'm quite fine, thank you. The pancakes smell delicious. I do agree, however, that you made too many." He gestured to the pile of pancakes stacked precariously high next to the stove. It seemed that if one looked at it the wrong way it would topple. Paddington tried to recover from his shock.

"Yes, well, I suppose we don't have to make lunch now," he suggested. This brought another bout of laughter from Arthur, but this time, Paddington joined in as well. As Paddington served his host a plate of pancakes, he wondered what had happened to make him so… friendly. The bear found his laugh to be very comforting and, strangely, magical. His eyes seemed not quite so dull as they had the previous day. Or was it just Paddington's imagination?

"These pancakes are brilliant, Paddington. Thank you very much. Before we leave the flat, however, we had better get this place cleaned up first," Arthur explained once he had finished his meal. Paddington nodded, still stunned at his calm reaction to the mess.

They worked together to get the flat back into order. Although they had removed the soap the previous evening, there were still some things out of place. As Paddington washed dishes, Arthur put his table back into place and began picking up the papers strewn about the room. _What on earth are these, anyway?_ He wondered. His eyes examined the next paper he picked up. Recognition lit up his features.

"Good Lord, Paddington,where did you find these?" Paddington turned to Arthur, unable to tell whether he were angry or not.

"I, ah, I found them in your desk. I promise I wasn't snooping! I was simply bored, you see, and-" He was cut short by another laugh. This laugh, however, was one of triumph and excitement.

"Paddington! You're brilliant! I can't believe that I had forgotten all about these!" he exclaimed joyously. Paddington frowned and scratched his head in confusion.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean…" he confessed. But Arthur was already caught up in whatever fantasy his peculiar mind held. He continued speaking, but only to himself.

"This is wonderful, fantastic, even! This design is perfect! I only need to change the dimensions and adjust it slightly for a different type of space. Oh, this is bloody brilliant!" he chanted to himself. Paddington watched him go on in exuberance for a few more moments. It was then as if the reality of it suddenly hit him. He paused his celebration.

"I need to call Matthew. He needs to see this; he can help. I'll call him immediately. He can come by today! Haha! This is perfect, thank you, Paddington!" He called out the last part as he dashed off into his bedroom to get dressed in proper clothes for the day. Paddington opened his mouth to speak but was drowned out by Arthur's door slamming shut. He still had no idea what he had done or who Matthew was. But, he had never seen Arthur so happy before, so he quietly returned to washing the dishes.

An hour later, a knock came on the door. Arthur had been sitting on the floor with all his papers spread out before him, scribbling on the old designs and on fresh papers as well. Paddington watched curiously from the side, trying his very best to remain quiet and unobtrusive.

As soon as the sound was heard, the great architect jumped up and opened the door with unprecedented vigour.

"Matthew! Brilliant! You have incredible timing," the Brit exclaimed. Matthew seemed caught off guard by his excitable demeanor as much as Paddington had been. Paddington himself peered around Arthur's legs like a small child might would his mother. He eyed the stranger up and down. Arthur had previously explained that Matthew was his assistant and friend. Paddington's brown eyes found him to be kind and handsome looking, but not in a noticeable way. Rather, in a simple, familiar way that was comforting but unassuming. His gaze lowered until it met eyes of someone his own height.

"Who are you?" The small polar bear asked. Paddington held his paw out to shake.

"I'm Paddington, from darkest Peru," he explained. Matthew noticed the exchange and intervened.

"Oh, nice to meet you. I'm Matthew, and this is Mr. Kumajirio. You two are going to be the best of friends!" he introduced. His voice was soft, so Paddington struggled to hear. The polar bear seemed to sigh.

"Well, come in! Let me show you the designs! Oh, also, Paddington made too many pancakes, so feel free to have as many as you like," Arthur insisted. Both of the guests' eyes widened. The polar bear licked his lips.

Arthur led Matthew to the designs and began to tell him of things that made little sense to bears. The two bears sat at the kitchen table and ate pancakes, while discussing their lives before living among humans. The polar bear(Paddington could not, for the life of him, remember his name) told the story of how Matthew found him wandering the snowy, Canadian plains alone. He had been stranded from his family further up north during a horrid blizzard and has not had contact with them since. But Matthew was a good friend and took care of him, even if he forgot who Matthew was sometimes. Paddington explained that he had been sent to London by his Aunt Lucy in order to experience a better life.

As they talked of other bear things that we humans do not understand or find remotely interesting, the telephone rang. Arthur got up from his discussion with Matthew and answered it.

What do you do when someone answers the phone near you? Clearly, they were not calling you, so you have no business listening in on the conversation. If it were really private, however, surely the recipient of the call would leave the room? Instead, everyone present plays this little game where they pretend to be busy with other things, but, in all actuality, they are listening to the one-sided conversation and trying to discover who it might be on the other end. This is what was happening as Arthur answered the phone. No one, however, could decipher who might be on the end of the line. Here is how his conversation went:

"Hello? Yes, this is Arthur. What? Good Lord, are you all right? Bloody- Why didn't you tell me anything before?! Am I worried? Yes, I'm worried, and I'm furious! You only decided to call now? I'm coming over immediately; where are you? All right, I'll be over soon. Please-no, don't do that. Just sit tight."

When he hung up, he was trembling. No one was sure whether it were with fear or fury. He turned around and covered his face for a moment before sighing. Everyone stayed absolutely still, unsure of how else to respond. They held their breath and waited for him to provide some sort of explanation.

"I'm sorry, Matthew, but I have to make a hospital visit. We will have to discuss this another time," Arthur finally muttered. When he turned around, the tear streaks on his face were undeniable. Everyone was stunned. What phone call could make the untouchable Arthur Kirkland cry? Who was in the hospital? Who could Arthur be that close to? It was a completely novel situation. There was no 'proper' response to give. This was unknown territory; all previous knowledge of Arthur Kirkland must be tossed out the window. Everyone was winging it now.

"I-if you'd like, we could, um, come with you," Matthew stammered quietly, gauging the Brit's expression as he spoke.

"Yes," Paddington added. "For support!" They waited in silence for his answer. The usual Arthur would bark at them and insist that he could do it himself. Instead, he sighed and said,

"All right, if you'd like. Let me get my coat." They blinked, stunned, as he went to his room. Paddington quickly got up from the table to get his own hat and coat, now dry and clean from the previous day's escapade.

It was raining. This is very stereotypical of sad scenes in stories, but it is also very stereotypical of British weather. Which we have to blame for it raining here, I do not know. They called a cab on account of the rain. Needless to say, the cab driver was slightly surprised to pick up two men and two bears. They rode silently the entire way. Arthur dejectedly looked out the window, mind clearly lost in some far off place. The other three were absolutely brimming with curiosity. Who were they going to visit? What connection did they have with Arthur? Were they family? Friends? Perhaps a lost love interest? Although, this last one as quickly discarded as absurd. No one spoke, but the silence said enough on its own.

Once there, Arthur led them through the directions he had been given. Four storeys and two hallways later, they had finally arrived. The questions buzzed about the guests mind like a swarm of bees. They seemed so loud in each mind that each worried someone else might actually be able to hear it. Arthur sighed before entering. The door opened, and they all held their breath. Who was behind the door?

Arthur seemed as shocked as everyone else. There was not one, but _three_ people in the crowded hospital room. An elderly lady lay in the hospital bed with strange tubes connected to strange machines making strange noises. Beside the bed, two men stood. The shocking part to Arthur was that he knew all three people in the room. His usual scowl returned to his face.

"Alfred! Francis? What in bloody-" he began. He was cut off, however, by a stern scolding from the elderly woman.

"Arthur Kirkland, how dare you come into my hospital room and not even acknowledge me!" The room fell silent. Her face was very wrinkled, and she looked rather frail. Yet, her spirit would have suggested she were as young as every other person in the room.

Surprisingly, Arthur seemed taken aback by this response. He swallowed, his eyes wide. His expression resembled that of a frightened child. The old woman had locked eyes with him, her own narrowed in discipline. Suddenly and without warning, she laughed. Her whole face was filled with laugh lines.

"You look ridiculous, Arthur, come in, come in. Who are your guests?" she asked as the group of people slowly entered. Arthur noticed Alfred's eyes widen excitedly as the two, small bears entered. He quickly returned his attention back to the woman.

"This is Matthew, my co-worker, and his, ah, friend…"

"Mr. Kujamanori," Matthew inserted. Arthur eyed him suspiciously. Was it him or was the bear's name getting more syllables?

"Yes, and the brown bear in the blue coat is Paddington. He's staying with me until we might find him a home," Arthur finished. The old woman grinned. She had a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

"He's staying with you? Just until he finds a home? Reminds me of someone else who said that very same thing…" she murmured, chuckling to herself. Arthur sighed.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" She suddenly asked, quite offended. "I'm Rose, but the boys call me Aunt Rose, and you might do the same." Paddington's ears pricked up.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he asked, "but which boys?" She laughed again and patted Arthur's head affectionately. Arthur's nose scrunched up in annoyance but he held his tongue, incredibly enough.

"Why these boys, of course. Arthur and Alfred!" As she said the latter name, she reached with her other hand to squeeze the arm of the one gentleman present that Paddington didn't recognize. The man who must have been Alfred smiled at the touch, much like a child relishing his mother's affection.

"Arthur!" A French accent said. "I had no idea you knew Madame Rose as well as Alfred?" This finally gave Arthur the opportunity he was looking for.

"Because my past is my business! Might I ask what on earth you're doing here in the first place?!"

"Why, Arthur, Alfred here is helping me find a property on which to build my future restaurant!" Francis exclaimed defensively. Arthur's burning green eyes turned to Alfred.

"Yeah, man! I got the call from Aunt Rose while I was showing him a property, and he said he'd be willing to come with me so I didn't have to come alone," the American confirmed. Arthur's fury faltered.

 _So he didn't have to go alone._

Alfred had assumed that Arthur would not come visit? Did he think that Arthur no longer cared for Aunt Rose anymore simply because he and Alfred were not on good terms? He wondered how lowly Alfred really thought of him. But why did he care what Alfred thought? They had not gotten along in years…

"Anyway, you seem to have brought your own entourage so I don't see what the problem is," Alfred argued. Arthur scowled again.

"We were in the middle of a business discussion when I received the phone call," he admitted.

"So you two still aren't talking?" Aunt Rose sighed. "Well, don't quarrel in here. If you want to bicker like children, take it outside." The two men glared at each other but said nothing else. Arthur turned back to the woman.

"Aunt Rose, why did you call us both here? You said it was grave…" The old woman sighed.

"Arthur, you might want to sit down," she prefaced. Arthur's face fell immediately. Matthew sensed the mood of the room plummeting and the need for privacy.

"Hey, Kimajuno, how about we go outside?" He suggested softly. Francis picked up on the cue and helped usher Paddington out as well. The last thing they heard before they closed the door behind them was Alfred saying,

"Dude, is your friend Canadian?"

They heard some interesting noises outside the door: shouting, arguing, slamming. Crying…

It was at least an hour later before the two men emerged, both looking worse than they had 60 minutes earlier. The bears had grown quite restless and were, at first, excited when the door opened. As soon as they saw their faces, however, they grew sombre. For a few minutes, they all sat in silence. Arthur looked at the floor, and Alfred looked at the ceiling. Paddington wondered what connection these two men held, and if their lives were bound together by more than an old woman.

Suddenly, Arthur spoke.

"I suppose we should go get our things from her house," he muttered softly. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah, I guess so. Do you still have a key? I lost mine years ago…" he admitted, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. Arthur sighed and held up a small house key. Alfred seemed surprised, but clearly impressed.

"Let's go," he mumbled, striding down the hall. Neither of them acknowledged the two men and two bears, but neither protested when they followed them down the hall and into a large taxi cab. It was as if there was a silent agreement that had been subconsciously signed by every member present. The guests were deadly curious about this strange and hidden past of both men, and the men themselves were appalled at the thought of being alone in a room together. Thus, no one said anything, and no one complained.

The taxi dropped them off at a small house right outside of London. It was in between the bustling city and open country. It looked like any quaint old country cottage right out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. Francis gushed about how absolutely charming it was as soon as he laid eyes on it. In the dreary rain, however, its faults seemed put under spotlights. The shutters were old and needed replacing. The door paint was chipping and faded. Ivy crawled up the front and side, threatening structural safety. A large crack sneaked its way up the stucco as well. The plants needed tending, and the sidewalk leading to the front door was cracked worse than the house. They paid the cabby and rushed to the front door as the rain poured around them. Thunder rumbled and lightning struck suddenly. Paddington, personally, was quite used to such frightening storms. The polar bear, however, was more used to blizzards than thunder and nearly jumped out of his own fur when the sound roared through the countryside. Although he had been living in London for quite a while now, it hardly ever thundered when it rained. Definitely not like this. He clung tightly to Matthew's legs as Arthur struggled with the key. Finally, the door creaked and groaned as Arthur pushed it open. All entered cautiously. Alfred quickly found a light and flipped it on. It was a pleasant house, if not slightly dated in decor. Paddington wondered why it felt vaguely familiar until he realized something: it was laid out exactly the same as Arthur's flat. Or, rather, Arthur based his flat off of this cottage. If the flat had been several hundred square feet larger and the furniture of this house transferred to it, it would have been a perfect match. Paddington dreadfully needed an explanation.

"Ah, Arthur?" he broached hesitantly. Arthur seemed in a slight daze; his eyes were distant and his mind was elsewhere as well.

"Yes," he answered rather numbly.

"What is this place?" the bear asked. Everyone in the room turned first to Paddington, then to Arthur and Alfred.

"This is our home," Alfred muttered. For once, even he had been quiet, and his voice was soft when he did speak which was also unusual. Arthur's eyes drifted to the floor, now back in the present.

"It _was_ our home," Arthur corrected. Alfred huffed.

"Well, it'll always be my home," he countered. "Where's yours? Your fancy schmancy penthouse in the heart of London?" he scoffed. Arthur's delicate gaze snapped and he spun quickly in Alfred's direction.

"And what do you think you know about my life?!" He was yelling now. "You don't know _anything_."

Alfred rolled his eyes as if he had heard this argument a million times. Maybe he had.

"I know _you_. And the last I remember of you, all you wanted to do was work your way to fame and glory!"

"I just wanted us to have a better life!"

"Well, look where it got us!"

"Don't you dare try to blame it on me! You're the one who started it all in the first place when you-" Arthur paused. He was absolutely fuming, but he seemed unable to continue. Alfred huffed again as they kept their hateful gazes locked on each other.

"Fine. Maybe I don't know what your house looks like. But if your home isn't here, then where is it?" Alfred challenged. Arthur remained silent. He let those words mull about in his mind.

 _Home. Where is it?_ He was unsure if he knew.

"Let's just get our stuff packed and leave," he finally responded. They broke eye contact. The spectators had been holding their breath the whole argument. This was, altogether, a rather awkward situation. Thankfully, Francis took everything in stride.

"Why don't you show us your rooms? It sounds like nothing has changed much since you were here, no? I'd love to see where Arthur used to live," he requested. Alfred seemed grateful for the change in topic and the opportunity to mock his rival.

"Sure! We lived upstairs in the loft, come on!" He seemed unnaturally cheery considering the previous few moments. Had he recovered that quickly, or was he just masking his real emotions? It was difficult to decipher.

"Don't encourage him!" Arthur snapped as he followed up the stairs after everyone else.

Upstairs was a large, open loft space. Two round windows were on either side with twin beds beneath both of them. A large dresser and a bookshelf sat on the far end wall. Although dusty and faded, the place was still full of possessions, so much so, one might think it were still occupied.

"Guess which bed's mine!" Alfred shouted. Everyone pointed to the one on the left. "Aw, how'd you know?" He pouted. No one said anything, but it was fairly obvious by the way the bed posts were scratched and the bedding was rumpled, along with the small stack of action figure toys set up on the thick, wooden headboard. The other bed looked perfectly neat and clean. The only thing near it was a book resting on the pillow. Upon closer inspection, the book was discovered to be _Great Expectations_ by Charles Dickens.

"Just a hunch…" Francis offered.

Arthur, who had disappeared, reappeared with a small stack of cardboard boxes.

"All right, pack up," he ordered, handing most of them to Alfred. Alfred sighed and looked forlornly about the room.

"I kinda wish we could leave it like this forever…" he said wistfully.

"Well, we can't."

"Why not?" the small polar bear finally spoke up. Arthur sighed.

"Aunt Rose is selling the place. She… she won't be needing it anymore," he explained softly. "She's not doing too well, so she's going up north to live with her niece." Silence filled the room again. It all made sense now.

Aunt Rose was dying. She was living with her niece for her final years, maybe even months, of life. Francis and Matthew wondered what she might be suffering from, but they dared not ask quite yet.

"Might I help you pack, Arthur?" Paddington asked, breaking the tension that had been building. Arthur… Arthur smiled. Most unexpectedly, he smiled and handed a small shoe box to him.

"Sure, why not," he agreed. Alfred watched the exchange with a look of shock on his face. Shock and something else…

"We can help too," Matthew offered, and they all began to help. Arthur delegated the packing to make sure none of his stuff got mixed up with Alfred's. When asked whose clothes in the drawers belonged to whom, Arthur explained that he had the top drawer and two right middles while Alfred had the bottom and the two left middles.

"Wait, I thought I had the right bottom one as well?" Alfred interjected. Arthur buried his face in his hand and sighed.

"You always thought you did only because you took _my_ clothes from that drawer and wore them no matter how many times I claimed them," he insisted. Alfred scrunched his face in thought, trying to remember.

"Oh, yeah, maybe I did…"

"You did."

"Ok, nevermind, then. What are we gonna do with these old clothes, anyway? I don't know about yours, but mine definitely won't fit me anymore," Alfred wondered. He joked and held up to himself a small shirt suitable for a man half his size. Everyone but Arthur laughed.

"I'm going to donate them. I don't care what you do with yours," he stated blandly.

"What? Donate to charity? You? I thought you would try to sell them for money," Francis mocked. Arthur grit his teeth.

"Selling them is too much of a hassle, you frog," he growled. Francis and Alfred laughed again.

"You might not want to donate this one," Matthew suggested. "It looks like it might fit you." He held up a simple button-up shirt. Alfred burst out laughing even harder than he had been before.

"That was my shirt when I was like, 14!" he roared. Francis started laughing again as well. Matthew frowned.

"Oh," he murmured. He had been completely genuine. Poor Arthur just blushed and scowled. It was not _his_ fault that he was small and Alfred was built like linebacker.

"All right!" he barked angrily. "That's enough, you two, back to work!"

"Arthur? which shelves are yours again?" Paddington asked.

"You even divided the shelves on the bookcase?" Francis asked, incredulous.

"Artie made us do it," Alfred blamed.

"Artie?" the Frenchman wondered. Before Alfred could respond, Arthur decided to answer the bear's question.

"Mine are the bottom two and the second to the top," he clarified. The two bears had been put in charge of the bookshelf. Paddington nodded and continued back to work.

"Is that because he couldn't reach the top shelf?" Francis whispered to Alfred. Alfred tried to contain his laughter.

"Yeah!" he answered. Francis chuckled.

Suddenly, there was a crash. Everyone turned to the bookshelf. The two bears, in their effort to reach the higher two shelves, had stacked on top of each other. Paddington, reaching for an item, had accidentally knocked off another item with his paw. The item was from the second-to-top shelf. Arthur's eyes widened in horror.

"No, no, no, no, no… it can't be," he muttered frantically as he rushed over to the scene of the crime. It was incredible, really, how quickly the bears unstacked and slipped away quietly. Arthur's large eyes scanned the shattered pieces. They were large enough to be clearly identifiable. He had already known what it was though. He only owned one item that would make such a noise if broken.

His mother's vase. The one thing he owned from his mother. He remembered how she used to fill it with wildflowers she picked at the park. It was the only thing of hers that he had been able to take with him…

And it was gone.

Arthur clenched his fist and grit his teeth. He stood and paced across the room, his hand covering his eyes. He bit his lip to prevent himself from screaming. Thunder rumbled outside again, and it seemed to fit in quite nicely with how he felt. No one made a move except Alfred, who was the only one who really knew what the shattered pieces meant to him. Alfred gently picked up each piece and inspected it. Paddington suddenly noticed his blue eyes widen.

"Hey, Artie? You said this vase-"

"Was my mother's. It was a family heirloom." Alfred's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"What is it?" Francis asked.

"You better come check this out…" he said, trailing off. Arthur, eyes watery, approached. The tone in Alfred's voice had turned oddly frightened. The American held up a shard that appeared to have been on the inner bottom of the vase. There was a small symbol painted on the surface, a coat of arms.

"I don't understand; it's just a family crest. It was most likely my mother's own family crest," he explained simply. Alfred looked like he had seen a ghost. He shook his head.

"No, dude, that's the Westover's," he said, barely above a whisper. Arthur furrowed his brow.

"What could you possibly mean? It's my mother's, and that's not the Westover's company logo."

"I think, Arthur," Francis interrupted, "he means that that particular symbol is not the Westover's logo, but their family crest." Arthur seemed skeptical.

"What would make you think that? I haven't personally seen their family crest; they use their logo on most everything." Alfred still seemed shell shocked.

"Because I saw it on one of the documents I signed when I sold the property to Mr. Westover himself. It's their legal, personal family crest." Arthur's own eyes widened. Everyone remained silent, allowing this realization to sink in.

"And it's on _your_ mother's vase," Alfred added. "And you said it yourself. It's a freakin family heirloom."


	6. Chapter 6: A Ridiculous Assumption

((Ok, I added just a small bit to this chapter, and then I'm uploading part of the next chapter. Enjoy!))

Paddington was rather confused by the stunned expressions on the faces of all present. Arthur himself stood with wide eyes, his gaze growing distant as his mind began to wander on plains of possibilities. Everyone else had grown eerily quiet.

"Who are the Westovers? What's so special about them?" Paddington finally asked. All eyes-aside from Arthur's who were, by now, very far away-turned to him.

"Just, like, the richest family in England!" Alfred explained rather eloquently. Francis took over.

"Not exactly. They're the wealthiest family in London other than the nobility. Well, _most_ nobility…. They own a multi-million dollar company and are said to be rather close to the royal family themselves."

"And Artie's related to them!" Alfred exclaimed, jumping to a standing position.

"Wow, Arthur, you're practically nobility! I had no idea you had such family history," Matthew added, rather amazed. It was almost startling considering everyone had forgotten Matthew was present. Alfred waved his arms around in excitement, almost hitting the low ceiling several times.

"You're like a long-lost prince! Your life is like a fairytale; this is fantastic!" he shouted enthusiastically. Arthur finally seemed to snap out of his daze.

"Shut up! All of you!" he commanded. His expression had hardened into one of skepticism.

"Arthur, what are you-" Francis began before being interrupted.

"We absolutely cannot jump to ridiculous conclusions!" Arthur demanded. He huffed irritably. "Long-lost prince my arse! Simply because I might happen to be somehow distantly related to the Westovers does not at all mean I a _prince._ As Francis just clarified, the Westovers are not nobility. They may happen to own a large sum of money, but I highly doubt I have a claim to any of it." Matthew frowned, but the other two would not be silenced so easily.

"Well, it's still rather thrilling, don't you think? I wonder what family drama brought this vase to your mother's possession in the first place, and why your ancestry was kept a secret from you," Francis pondered. He had, undoubtedly, already created many scenarios involving plenty of family scandal and secrecy.

"It wasn't kept a secret!" Arthur argued. "I was only four years old, what business was I to have in family ancestry?"

"Well, wouldn't you know who your family was? Like, at holiday dinners and stuff? I mean, if I were related to rich people I'd brag about it all the time!" Alfred questioned. Arthur began to respond rather indignantly:

"Of course I knew father's family, but, mind you, he didn't have very much. And my mother's family…" Strangely enough, Arthur found himself drawing a blank. _Had_ he ever met his mother's family? But that was ridiculous. Alfred's eyes only widened even more.

"You haven't met them, have you? Do you even know your mother's maiden name?!" By this point, his relation to the Westovers seemed to be growing closer and closer in everyone's minds. Everyone but Arthur, that is. Despite the previously unnoticed holes in his family's past, he still found it difficult to believe such a ridiculous notion.

"I was four! I didn't even know what a maiden name was. You're all being absolutely ridiculous right now!" he scolded. Paddington was now even more confused than before.

"But, Arthur," he said quietly, "don't you _want_ to be a Westover?" Everyone went quiet, glancing from the bear to Arthur.

" _I_ would want to find my family again. And be rich," the polar bear-Mr. Kujama-whatever-admitted. Matthew gave him a sad smile and rubbed the bear's shoulder comfortingly.

"He's right," Alfred agreed. "When we are kids, we constantly dreamed about finding our families and discovering that we were more than just orphans. You may have an opportunity to do that, and you're trying to push it away?" Arthur clenched his jaw.

"I agree with Alfred. Is it not like your book, here?" Francis added, picking up _Great Expectations._ "A young boy finally has his dream come true and is allowed to be elevated to a social level never before possible? Is that not what you were working towards?"

"That's not what the book is about," Arthur stated blandly. "If you read to the end, you discover that it's about how life is full of _disappointments_. The moment you believe you can be more than who you are, is the moment you're reminded that you _can't._ " Alfred frowned, brow furrowed. He looked concerned by this new revelation.

"I only read that thing once for school, and I didn't understand most of it, but I'm pretty sure that's not what it's about. Why don't you take a chance, Artie? You used to believe in all sorts of incredible things, but the moment something potentially incredible happens to you, you refuse to believe it. What happened to you?"

"I grew up!" Arthur snarled. Everyone stepped back, frightened by his sudden, fierce response. "I realized that I'm an orphan, and that's all I'll ever be! I'm not a prince or a duke or even a heir to some wealthy family name. I'm Arthur Kirkland, and that means _nothing._ " After his outburst, he breathed deeply, feeling suddenly stifled by the small loft's air.

"I like Arthur Kirkland," Matthew finally muttered quietly.

"I never thought you needed to be anything else…" Alfred whispered. Paddington padded over and took Arthur's hand.

"I think you're a great person. Everyone else in that train station passed me by, but you took me in," he encouraged softly. Arthur made eye contact with the bear. His big, brown eyes were genuine. Arthur gently pulled his hand away and began to make his way down the stairs without another word. Halfway down, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Francis looking at him. Arthur had never noticed how blue his eyes were. They looked a lot like Alfred's, but they expressed themselves very differently. Currently, they were full of concern and affection.

"You said your name means nothing," he repeated, barely above a whisper. "But it means something to me." They held eye contact for a long while. Arthur pondered what the Frenchman could mean. Yes, they were neighbors, but they hardly knew each other. They seemed to disagree on everything and had only had a personal visit once. The man was a hopeless romantic, and Arthur was a practical person. What on earth could he mean to someone like that?

Arthur finally broke their gazes and continued down the stairs. Francis might have sighed behind him, or he could have imagined it. Arthur needed some breathing room, and he needed a taxi.

Upstairs, Paddington worried about Arthur. He thought he had finally cracked his harsh exterior, only to find another one just as strong beneath it. He kept hearing these rumours of a young, care-free Arthur who was unafraid to dream, but it all seemed rather dim compared to the harsh reality. As Paddington looked around the old loft, his eyes landed on a thick, unlabeled book. He walked over to the shelf and reached towards it. Alfred, noticing his plight, rushed to his aid and pulled the book down. His gloomy expression transformed into one of pure excitement. His eyes lit up as he called everyone present over.

"Hey, guys! Come look at this, I found the photo album Aunt Rose made!" That perked everyone up, even Francis who had become extremely dejected after returning from the stairwell.

They gathered around as Alfred flicked through the pages. In amazement, they watched the boys grow up. The earliest picture was of them in that very loft, just moved in. Alfred was grinning with a thumbs up towards the camera. Arthur was barking at him while he unpacked their things. They both appeared to be about thirteen.

"Aunt Rose took this the day we officially moved in! We didn't have much then, but Artie was still persnickety about it being all organized and stuff," Alfred clarified. There were other pictures of them doing chores around the house, or playing games on the lawn. Despite expectations, Arthur seemed happy in most of the photos. His crooked smile was documented many times, and his eyes sparkled curiously. They didn't sparkle anymore, Paddington could not help but notice. He wondered what happened.

Alfred told the story behind each picture proudly. He seemed excited to share his previous experiences with Arthur. He almost acted as if nothing had changed between them, and they were still happy, go-lucky boys who liked to wrestle and play cricket. Apparently, Arthur was very good at that.

"That's the year we made the local cricket team!" Alfred announced, turning to a page full of the boys in cricket uniforms. Francis was practically grinning.

"Let me guess, you were the star player?" he assumed. Alfred blushed unexpectedly. He rubbed his neck uncomfortably, a habit of his.

"Actually, Arthur was." Everyone was surprised. Francis raised an eyebrow curiously. "Yeah, I was better at all the other sports, but I couldn't ever get the hang of cricket. I dunno, just not my thing, I guess. Maybe that's why Arthur liked it so much; it was the one sport he was better at than me!"

"I never played sports growing up. I joined the cooking club," Francis admitted.

"I-I was a hockey player," Matthew stammered softly. They all turned to him.

"Isn't hockey a really violent sport?" Paddington asked. The polar bear nodded.

"Yeah, Matthew was the best on his team. He could have gone pro if he wanted," he praised. Matthew blushed.

"Well, I mean, I wasn't _that_ good… only one scout offered me a professional position, and I turned him down. I wanted to be an architect," he specified. Francis smiled and laughed. He patted Matthew on the shoulder affectionately.

"Remind me never to underestimate you again! You're definitely more than meets the eye, young man." Matthew blinked and nodded.

They continued through the pages. There were picnics, sports games, and school projects. About two-thirds of the way through the book, there was a photo that caught Paddington's eye. Before Alfred could flip past it, Paddington placed his paw on the picture.

"Hold on, what's that?" He asked, pointing to something. Alfred's face fell. The picture was of the two boys at the park. They were definitely teenagers by now, and they were doing something in the woods. It was hard to tell because of the odd angle at which it were taken, as if the photographer were trying to remain hidden. Paddington looked closer to find that they were sitting underneath a tree, reading a book. Arthur was reading aloud, but Alfred had clearly fallen asleep. In between them, however, sat a small object.

It was a stuffed bear.

It looked very old and very ragged when the picture was taken. Paddington had not found a matching one in the loft, so he assumed they no longer had it. The bear sat between the two of them as if they were a trio rather than a duo. In the photo, Arthur paid no mind to the fact that Alfred was asleep and continued to read aloud.

Paddington glanced back up to Alfred now and wondered what about the picture bothered him so. There was a loud _snap_ as the book was slammed shut and placed back on the shelf.

"Shouldn't we go check on Artie?" He asked. They all looked at Alfred with concern.

"Whatever is the matter? It seemed to be a nice picture to me," Francis asked. Alfred sighed, his eyes on the floor.

"Nothing. It just reminded me that this is all my fault," he murmured, turning to look out the window. No one had noticed that it was still raining. Pouring, really.

"Surely, it's not all your fault," Matthew encouraged. Alfred shook his head.

"It is," he whispered. His voice was failing him. Paddington climbed up on the small twin bed so he could see his face.

"What happened?" the bear asked. Alfred finally looked up, revealing the tears in his eyes. He bit his lip in an attempt to prevent himself from complete sobbing.

"I made Arthur this way," he choked. "I crushed Arthur's dreams. It's all my fault…. He can't be happy because of me; I ruined everything!" Despite his age and size, in that moment, Alfred looked like a small child. He knelt next to his childhood bed and cried more than Paddington thought possible. The poor bear wished there were something he could do to help. _What cheers people up?_ He thought. They were all comforting him, but even when Alfred had stopped crying, he was still clearly heartbroken. _Hmm. What cheers me up?_ Paddington thought instead. The answer was suddenly as clear as day: food! Without saying a word, he rushed out of the loft and down the stairs. He heard similar padding feet follow behind him.

"Where are you going?" The polar bear asked.

"I'm going to cheer Alfred up by making food!" He explained.

"That's a wonderful idea!" The other bear agreed. They reached the kitchen and began to search the pantry and cupboards for whatever might be available.

"What do you think we should make?" Paddington wondered. The polar bear paused to think for a moment.

"Matthew usually likes to eat pancakes when he's feeling sad," he answered. For some reason, Paddington doubted that would be as effective with Alfred. Alfred acted almost like a big kid, so what foods would he like? Sweet ones!

"What if we made cookies!" Paddington suggested, finding sugar and flour in a cabinet. The polar bear nodded excitedly in agreement.

Together, they began to gather the ingredients deemed necessary. Paddington knew nothing at all about cooking, and his friend only knew how to make pancake mix. What they did, was add the amount of each ingredient that _looked_ like it might be right. Once they determined the ratio to be correct, they mixed it all up. They had only dry ingredients, however, and soon realized that what they had did not look like cookie dough. From there, they added some milk and water until it felt right. After piling in some chocolate chips last minute, they rolled them into balls and put them in the oven on a reasonable temperature.

"I don't know why people complain about cooking all the time. That was fast and easy," the polar bear noted.

"Yes, I think so, too! Maybe they're not doing it right," Paddington wondered. Suddenly, the two bears heard a noise. It sounded like a clanking or banging outside the house. Thunder rumbled again, startling them as well. They looked around and realized how old the house they were in was. The mysterious hallway off the kitchen had grown dark and ominous, all of a sudden. Had the floorboards always been that creaky? The lights flickered in the storm, and the house trembled with the wind. Upstairs, they had all become so caught up in the past that they had not realized the ferocity of the storm outside. The small bears huddled together instinctly.

"Wh-what do you think that was?" The polar bear asked. Paddington swallowed.

"Which one?" He asked nervously. There was another crashing noise outside.

"That one!" the other bear exclaimed.

"I-I don't know," Paddington stuttered. "Surely it's not…"

"Not what?"

"A ghost?" They froze. The cracking was growing more intense. Thunder rumbled louder. That was when there came a knock at the door. The bears jumped and turned their wide eyes towards the front door. The pouring rain obstructed their view, but the large silhouette standing outside the window was unmistakable. The bears yelled and ran for the stairs.

"It's outside! It's going to get us!" They cried, running up the stairs. There, the men were discussing something amongst themselves. Though Alfred still seemed sad, he was no longer so grieved as he had been previously. Instead, he was curious as to this strange outburst.

"What on earth!" Francis declared as the bears ran up shouting.

"Mr. Kukajaro, what's wrong?" Matthew asked as the bear ran to his side quickly.

"We heard a noise!" Paddington exclaimed. "And we saw a figure outside in the storm!"

"There's a monster out there," the other bear confirmed. Alfred's eyes widened.

"A monster?!" he shouted. Lightning flashed in the windows and thunder shook the floor. Everyone was startled by the noise, and they all grew somber.

"Let's go check it out," Alfred said solemnly, grabbing a croquet mallet from under the bed. Everyone gave a nod of agreement. All were frightened to some degree, but all tried their best to hide it(some not with much success).

They reached the bottom of the stairs and peaked around to see the front door. The banging was more fervent now. They heard growling and snarling. Alfred, bravely, tiptoed in front of the rest. The bears stayed on the fifth stair, huddled together. Whatever creature it was, it was cross. _Very_ cross.

"All right," Alfred addressed to Francis and Matthew. "One of you open the door, and I'll hit it with the mallet with all I got. If that doesn't work…" he looked to his fellow compatriots gravely. "God help us all." Matthew felt him to be acting slightly melodramatic, but Francis happily played along.

"Good luck," he said, saluting and preparing to open the door. Alfred gave a nod. The door was shaking now, and the creature was crying out ferociously. The bears trembled on the steps. Francis took a deep breath. Alfred braced himself.

The door ripped open. Alfred gave a war cry before stopping himself mid-swing. He lowered his mallet anticlimactically.

"Arthur?" Oh. That made a lot more sense.

Arthur stood in the doorway, holding his coat over his head to keep himself at least relatively dry. He was already soaked, however. His expression said enough for them to know that he was not at all happy.

"Idiots. It's me." Was all he said.

"Arthur! You are all right!" Francis exclaimed joyously. He approached to give him a hug, but Arthur walked inside and shoved him away.

"Of course I am, you fool! It's just a little rain!" he scolded.

"They thought you were a monster. What were you doing outside?" Matthew asked. Arthur closed the front door quickly and shivered with the cold.

"I came down to call a taxi, but I had no service. I forgot that there's not very good phone service out here on a good day, nonetheless with all this storming. I went outside to either get better reception or wave one down, but neither proved helpful. It looks like we're stranded here for the night."

 _Stranded._ With these morons. Arthur was already dreading the idea. He watched everyone else slowly make eye contact with each other, realizing what all that detailed. The bears looked absolutely terrified. Francis, oddly enough, refused to look in Arthur's direction. Matthew seemed rather stunned, but said nothing, per usual. Alfred's entire face lit up as if it were Christmas.

"Yeah! It'll be just like old times again!" He exclaimed, pumping a fist into the air. Arthur was about to remind him that it would be not at all like old times until something else caught his attention. He sniffed.

"What's that smell? Is something burning?" Everyone else took a whiff as well. Arthur looked from one face to the other in search of the culprit. It was not as hard as he had expected. There, on the stairs, the bears had wide eyes. The expression displayed through the wideness of the eyes was different than it had been previously. Earlier, their eyes were wide with _good Lord, we are going to be killed by a monster_ fear. Now, however, they were wide with _good Lord, we are going to be killed by Arthur_ fear.

 _That bear is going to be the death of me,_ Arthur thought as he stomped over to the kitchen. He opened the oven door and found a sheet of charcoals inside. He bothered not to ask what they were intended to be before they burnt, he simply threw them in the trash and turned the oven off.

Leaning on the counter, he sighed.

"All right, where is everyone sleeping?" He asked.

"Sleeping? We haven't even had dinner yet," Paddington reminded. As if on cue, Arthur's stomach growled. If it had just been him, he would have ignored it and moved on. Considering he was not alone though, he saw that this was not an option.

"I will cook!" Francis eagerly volunteered. "No matter how many times I insisted, Arthur never let me cook for him. Now is my chance to show you all true French cuisine!" Alfred pumped another fist in the air.

"Sweet! Are you gonna make French fries?!" Francis glared at him.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," he murmured as he approached the small kitchen. For some reason, Arthur found himself smiling. Perhaps he was simply surprised to see someone as irritated by Alfred's ignorance as he was, or maybe it was the fact that it was the first time he had ever seen Francis angry. Either way, Francis blushed when he saw Arthur's expression.

"Ah, why don't I teach you bears a little cooking lesson, yes? Since you clearly do not understand even the basics… the rest of the men can go back upstairs and work out sleeping arrangements," Francis suggested. The bears were delighted with his offer and rushed over to get the best view possible.

"That sounds great," Matthew agreed, heading back up the stairs. He was the only one who really understood that Francis was trying to get Arthur out of the room. Francis gave him a grateful look before figuring out what food was available to him. Despite having never met before today, the two had bonded rather quickly. Perhaps it was just the simple fact that Matthew was good at reading people, or that Francis was very easy to read. Either way, they easily formed a mutual understanding of and respect for one another.

Arthur and Alfred complied with this agreement and followed the Canadian back up to the loft space. It was going to be a difficult puzzle.

"There's three bedrooms total: the loft, the guest room, and Aunt Rose's room," Arthur announced at the top of the stairs.

"Ew! You want one of us to sleep in Aunt Rose's room?!" Alfred exclaimed, disgusted at the thought. Arthur glared at him.

"Why not? She's just Aunt Rose, and she's got a queen mattress. I don't see the problem," he justified. Alfred sighed.

"You missed two things. 1) she's an old lady. I mean, I love Aunt Rose, but old people are kinda gross. 2) she wasn't always old." Arthur narrowed his eyes skeptically.

"What does the second one have to do with anything?"

"Have you seen the old pictures of her? She was an attractive woman, I'll admit. An attractive, single woman. Do the math." Arthur stared for a moment before his face morphed into one of horror.

"Good lord! You twisted mind, do you really think she did it in there?! Surely, she's replaced the mattress by now?" Alfred pursed his lips.

"Is it worth the risk?" He asked. Arthur's eyes were wide as horrid fantasies flashed through his mind. It was that moment one has when they realize that no matter how normal it was, their parents _did it_. It is a traumatizing thing, strangely enough. It matters not how attractive they are or how much you love them or old you were when you found out. The moment you realize that your parents have sex(most likely, even, on a regular basis) is one of the most disturbing moments of one's life. Aunt Rose was the most parental figure either of the boys had. The next few minutes of stunned silence is now well understood. Even Matthew was slightly bothered by this realization. They stood in silence.

"There are two bedrooms in the house," Arthur finally continued. "The guest room has a full mattress, and this loft has the two twins. We have plenty of quilts and blankets and there's a sofa in the downstairs living room."

"I'm willing to sleep wherever, as long as Mr. Kujamajuru can stay nearby," Matthew offered.

"All right, then they can stay in the guest room, and Francis can sleep on the couch," Alfred suggested. Arthur scoffed.

"Francis can't sleep on the couch. He'll just stay awake unless he's in a bed," he argued. Alfred eyed him strangely.

"How'd you know that?" Arthur blushed.

"It's nothing. He just told me that one time…" he trailed off, refusing to explain himself. Alfred huffed but did not protest.

"Okay, then Francis can sleep in the guest room and Matthew can sleep on the couch. We can sleep in our beds up here."

"I'm not sleeping in a room alone with you!"

"Why not? We used to do it all the time!"

"Well, things are different now. How about I sleep on the couch and Matthew sleep up here?"

"What about Paddington? He's gonna want to sleep near you, but he won't want to sleep downstairs." Arthur growled angrily. They were going in circles. It was similar to those games where you have to discover who sits where:

 _Suzy Stanton secretly likes Bobby, but her sister Margaret does not. William is close friends with the Stanton girls. Jenna hates boys. If seated in a line, what order are they in?_

It seems that no matter what, everyone will be impossible to please. There is only one possible scenario in which everyone is happy. Arthur sighed.

"What if we just all slept up here?" the Brit suggested. Alfred considered this. "We could bring up the mattress from the guest room and the sofa cushions. It would be a tight fit, but we might could make it work." Alfred nodded.

"I like it! It really is a sleepover now!" Arthur scowled.

"If we're going to do it, then let's get moving! Come on!" he ordered, ushering them downstairs to retrieve the cushions and blankets. It was going to be a long night, indeed.

Downstairs, Francis was giving step-by-step instructions on how to make a "truly French" dish with a name that neither of the bears knew how to pronounce. Approximately halfway through the lesson, the polar bear-also with a name no one knew how to pronounce-asked a rather abrupt, irrelevant question.

"So, Mr. Francis, when did you fall in love with Arthur?" He wondered. Francis nearly dropped the pot he was holding. He blushed and stammered,

"What on earth makes you think I love Arthur?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was a secret. The way you admire and tease him so, I thought he knew." Francis was currently turned towards the stove as he stirred up some sort of sauce. His stirring slowed considerably, however, as the polar bear spoke.

"I am curious as well, Francis. The other day, you acted as if he used to be different," Paddington added. The Frenchman sighed and continued stirring, probably more than necessary.

"He did use to act differently. Well, towards me anyway. That was before I ruined everything," he said. He paused in speaking as the Alfred and Arthur came down and retrieved the couch cushions before returning upstairs again. The bears brought their attention back to the lonely lover.

"I'm a hopeless romantic, I know. I should probably have moved on by now, but I simply cannot," he lamented.

"Does he know you feel so strongly towards him?" The polar bear asked. Francis finally stopped stirring the poor sauce and leaned forward on the island counter. The bears were sitting on the opposite side on some rather shaky stools so as to have a full view of the lesson. Now, however, they were simply leaning across the counter together in a way reminiscent of idle teenage girls.

"I'm not exactly sure, but I'm far too frightened to find out. Who knows how he would respond? Clearly, he holds no affection for me."

"Well, if today has taught me anything," Paddington admitted, "it's that Arthur Kirkland is a rather surprising, unpredictable fellow, and we all know much less about him than we ever thought."

Francis smiled. Arthur and Alfred and Matthew came back down the stairs. This time, they ducked into a side room and dragged out a mattress. Arthur and Alfred squabbled the whole way back up the stairs, and their quarreling could still be heard once they had arrived.

"So, are you gonna tell us then?" The polar bear urged.

"Tell you what?" Francis asked as he finally returned to his cooking.

"How you fell in love with Arthur," Paddington clarified. Francis sighed.

"It's a very long story." The bears turned back to the arguing sounds coming from the loft.

"We have time."


	7. Chapter 7: A Ridiculous Romance

((Here's the second part. A lot of backstory this chapter! Don't worry, there's plenty of crazy escapades up ahead! Also I thought I'd address that I received a lovely review that also informed me that 19 year olds are very much able to drink in England. I had an inkling this was the truth, but wanted to clear up that I had already decided that either way, in this AU, Arthur still chooses not to drink at such an age[and not often when he's older either] simply out of his high respect for responsibility and maturity, not just legality. Thanks!))

Francis knocked on the door. His new neighbor had just moved into this up-and-coming apartment building. It was located in the slightly darker parts of London, but rent was cheap and promises of safety and improvement were made for the future. The room across from him had been empty for the entire year Francis had lived there, and he was rather excited to have someone else nearby. Perhaps it was a small family just moved into town. Or maybe it was a young couple in their first house together-how romantic! What if it were a beautiful lady? What if she were single? Francis had so many jitters. He would have been happy with whatever scenario occurred.

There was a long pause, so he knocked again. Francis had just returned from his shift at work, so he were unsure whether or not the tenant was home. Suddenly, there was a noise behind the door. Francis had already planned exactly what he was going to say. The door opened.

 _Good lord, he's cute._ Was the first thought that came to his mind. All his planned words went blank. In the doorway, stood a small blond man with green eyes the size of diamonds and slender hands made for delicate work. His eyebrows were-well, no one is perfect.

"Ah, Hullo," the stranger said. He was definitely British, as British as one could be. Francis finally recovered from his initial shock and moved forward with plan A.

"Why, hello! I'm Francis, your new neighbor. It would be my pleasure to serve you tonight for dinner," he introduced, adding a subtle bow at the end. The young man seemed rather startled.

"Thank you for your kindness, but I already ate, and I'm quite full. Perhaps another time," he responded. Francis deflated. He had prepared for every single possible situation except one: _rejection._ Why would anyone reject a free, home cooked meal? Francis was in a panic now. The young man was starting to close the door.

"Wait! Why don't you join my friends and I at the pub tonight for a drink, then? I could introduce you to some locals and show you around?"

"I'm sorry, I, um, I don't drink. Also, I'm not new to London, I've been living here my whole life. So, thank you, but no thank you," he answered quite quickly. Francis was in despair. Rejected twice?

"Well, can I at least know your name, mystery man?" he replied. He could play along.

"Arthur Kirkland. Nothing special. Good night," Arthur said as he ducked back into his apartment. Francis sighed and wished good night to a closed door.

Imagine his surprise, then, when he woke up the next morning on Arthur's couch.

"Where am I?" He muttered softly.

"My living room," that British voice said. Francis sat up quickly, but groaned when he did.

"What happened?" Arthur was casually pouring some morning coffee.

"I heard noises in the hall late last night. You were drunk and couldn't unlock your door. I tried to help you, but you refused to give me the key and walked back into my flat instead. I helped you to the couch, and it wasn't long after you fell asleep," he explained blandly. Francis blinked several times before groaning again. This time, it was out of embarrassment. The first day, and he had already ruined his reputation with his neighbor.

"And you didn't mind a strange man sleeping on your couch?" Francis asked in an attempt to gauge his reaction to all of this.

"Well, I'd pick you over my last roommate," he murmured before taking a sip of coffee. Francis was immediately curious. Unfortunately, he was also sick.

"Arthur, my friend," he said, standing. "I am extremely grateful for your help, and I apologise for any inconvenience I caused you. I am ashamed of my behaviour, and I am sorry." Arthur seemed unamused with his speech.

"All right, all is forgiven, just go home. I have to go to work soon," he mumbled. Francis gave a nod and took his leave, stealing one last glance of the apartment before he left. It was not much, but it was spotless.

Three months later, and Francis still had not convinced Arthur to come eat dinner with him or even go out for a drink. Though they talked often, it was usually Francis chatting mostly to himself in the hall. Arthur would always just stand patiently waiting for the Frenchman to finish what he was saying before returning to his flat. One evening, he got another chance to enter Arthur's flat, but it was not under the most ideal conditions.

Francis stumbled up the stairs like drunkard, even though this time he was _not_ drunk. He shivered as he attempted to unlock his flat. Why was it so cold, suddenly? He seemed to be growing weaker by the minute. Suddenly, he felt his work bag slip out of his hands and _thunk_ to the floor. He heard a door open, and a quiet, British accent say,

"Blimey, are you all right? It's a bit early to be drinking, don't you think?" Francis trembled as he tried to pick up his bag again. Instead, he felt a warm hand over his. Turning around, he found Arthur's big, green eyes staring intently back up at him.

"Good lord, you look dreadful! You must be coming down with something. And to think you worked today! Come inside, I'm no cook but I can make soup," he insisted. Francis wanted to protest, but found that he could not. Rather, he nodded slowly and followed the small man into his apartment. Inside, Arthur laid him down on the couch while he prepared food. He had given Francis enough blankets to warm nearly every homeless person in London. Soon enough, Arthur brought over some sort of beef stew concoction. It smelled nice(if not slightly burnt), and it tasted absolutely delicious. To this day, Francis is unsure whether it actually tasted good, or if he were simply so sick that anything would have tasted as such. Either way, he ate almost two bowls before trying to rest.

An hour later, however, he still lay groaning on the couch. Arthur finally entered the living room in a fuss.

"Well, are you going to sleep or just moan like a dying animal? I'm working on a project and I can't think straight with all the racket you're making!" He exclaimed crossly.

"Ooooh, I'm sorry, Arthur," Francis whispered. "It's just that I can't sleep on sofas. It hurts my back too much…" Arthur raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"You slept fine last time," he reminded.

"I was extremely drunk, I could have slept on the floor and not known it," he clarified. Arthur scowled but went to assist the Frenchman.

"All right, then. You may sleep in my room if it will shut you up," he complained as he helped his guest to his feet. Francis smiled wearily.

"Thank you very much. You're too kind." The small host huffed.

"You're as demanding as a princess. Even Alfie was never this needy."

"Alfie?" Francis wondered. Arthur grew silent.

"He's just someone I used to know." No further questions were asked.

Needless to say, Francis spent the week in Arthur's flat. Turned out, he had caught a bad case of the flu and needed to be cared for 24/7. Arthur used his vacation days to stay home and care for him. Francis begged him not to, but the British man simply frowned and waved him off.

"It's not like I would use them anyway," he would say.

Arthur still worked while he could, and when Francis was feeling perky, he would show him the designs he was working on. Francis was amazed at the creativity and beauty of Arthur's works. When the time came and he was feeling better, he found himself not wanting to leave. He thanked him more times than he could count, but Arthur shrugged them all off.

"If you like him, then why don't you just tell him?" Gilbert asked him next week at the pub. Francis told them the whole story.

"Like him?! Gilbert, don't be ridiculous," Francis scolded. His words sounded rather forced though, even to himself. Gilbert laughed.

"Whatever! If I liked him, I'd be awesome and just tell him!" Francis sighed.

"It's not as simple as that. he doesn't even seem to like me. It's so strange, because he says really mean things, but he acts so nice and sweet. I try to forget about him, but I can't help but think about him all the time! It's driving me crazy..." he lamented.

"Ah, I'm in a similar situation," Antonio remarked. "There's this Italian that I work with who I really like, but he's always angry with me! I don't think he likes me. I tried to move on, but my boss keeps making us work together on stuff, and it sucks! I think he's trying to do me a favor, but it doesn't seem to be working." Gilbert seemed deep in thought.

"Hold on, Antonio, do you like Lovino?" he asked suddenly. The Spaniard's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"How did you know it was him?!" Gilbert laughed.

"Because I'm awesome!"

"No, really, you're freaking me out. Tell me!"

"Well, my brother Ludwig is dating Feliciano. When you said 'angry Italian' I knew it had to be Lovino cause he's the angriest Italian in London!" Gilbert explained.

"Wait a moment, Ludwig is dating Feli? Since when?"

"Well, it's not official yet, but they basically are. The only issue is that my brother still refuses to admit he's gay. I still don't see why it's such a big deal though, I mean, I'm gay and I'm awesome!"

Although he would usually be all ears to such gossip, Francis had blocked out most of the conversation. He wondered if he should tell Arthur about how he felt. Perhaps, the only option left was to forever stew in silence or take the plunge.

Francis woke up on Arthur's couch again.

"Oh not again… I'm so sorry-"

"Do you remember anything that happened last night?" Arthur interrupted him. Francis's eyes widened in horror. What had he done?

"I, uh, no…" Arthur was sitting. At his tiny kitchen table for two. He was gazing at Francis with a look he had never seen before. Francis could not decide if he were angry or simply disappointed.

"All right, then. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and contribute most of your behaviour to drunkenness," he stated calmly. Francis was still horrified.

"What happened? What did I do?" he asked. Arthur paused for a moment.

"You came onto me." Francis froze in shock. His life was over. "You told me that you loved me and tried to make out with me. You suggested even more before I smacked you. Then you pouted until you fell asleep." Francis was unsure how to respond. He almost suggested having Arthur smack him again as punishment but did not want it to come across in a perverted way. Clearly, this new feeling Arthur was giving off was wariness. Francis had lost any trust he might have held in the other man's eyes. He wondered if he might ever be able to earn it back…

"Whether it's true or not, I am willing to accept most of it as drunken madness. However, I do have several things I feel I must tell you," Arthur began. Francis held his breath.

"Firstly, however old you thought I was, I'm only 19. Perhaps I should have informed you earlier, but I felt no need." Francis felt as if he had been hit in the gut. _Nineteen?_ No wonder he kept insisting that he did not drink. Francis knew he was small, but he held himself in such a responsible, mature fashion…

"Secondly, I'd like to ask that you not enter my flat again unless I explicitly invite you in," he continued. Francis swallowed, but found this to be just. It was not as if he barged in all the time, but there had been times when he had waltzed in whilst the door was open or knocked and pushed himself past the man's complaints and grumblings of protest. He nodded. Arthur paused for a moment. Finally, he sighed and added,

"Also, I should let you know that-drunk or no-I am not looking for a romantic relationship of any sort at the moment. My current focus is my career, and that is all that matters." Although Francis found Arthur to be correct on all points, it still crushed him. He cursed himself internally for being reckless and putting Arthur in a situation like that. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he wished to apologize, but could not find the words. Instead, he softly nodded and let himself out. Back in his own apartment, however, he sobbed for much longer than he would ever like to admit.

"Dinner is served!" Francis announced proudly as he set the dish before everyone present. Night had come rather quickly, and everyone present was exhausted from such an emotional roller coaster of a day. Needless to say, they were practically drooling at the mouth as the steaming food was laid before them.

"What is it?" Arthur asked skeptically. Although he had never actually eaten French food(why would he ever desire something _French?_ ) he had never even heard of a dish like the one set before him.

"Why, it is my own creation! I have taken the best components and techniques from many famous French dishes and made my own masterpiece!" He declared. Arthur wanted to make an argument, but even he could not deny that it smelled absolutely fantastic. "Please, my humble guests, there is no need to be polite. Eat!" Francis ordered. With that, the chorus of plates and forks began, and it went on uninterrupted for quite some time.

Once Alfred had finished his meal first(in a rather barbaric manner, Arthur scolded) he praised Francis with a well-worded speech:

"Dude, that stuff's amazing! You could make a ton of cash selling that!"

"Thank you, my friend, I am deeply honored," Francis replied. Arthur(who was still only halfway through his meal, mind you) shook his head in disapproval of the exchange.

"It was very delicious," Matthew added quietly. They were all surprised to find that he, too, had finished as quickly as Alfred. He had done so, however, in a much more gentlemanly way and, as such, did not receive a scolding. The bears had also finished quite soon, but they were bears and that is to be expected. Francis completed his meal not long after, until it was only Arthur still eating.

"Man, your eating habits haven't changed one bit," Alfred complained.

"Neither have yours, I noticed. You _still_ eat like an 8 year old. At least my eating manner is worthy of a proper gentleman," Arthur noted. Alfred blushed angrily.

"Whatever. Where'd you even learn to eat that slow anyway? You've been doing that since the orphanage," the American argued. Arthur sighed.

"It's not eating _slow_ , it's simply properly chewing your food. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I didn't need to be taught how to eat politely in order to do so?" he retorted rather calmly. Alfred huffed, but did not refute his comment.

"Wait, what orphanage?" Paddington suddenly wondered. Everyone looked to him as if he had just grown a second head.

"What, you thought we just lived together with some random old lady for no reason?" Alfred asked. If bears could blush, Paddington would have been as bright as a tomato.

"Alfred and I grew up in the same orphanage before we came to live with Aunt Rose. Neither of us are actually related to her, she simply wanted us to feel more like a family," Arthur explained once he had taken his last bite.

"Oh, I suppose that makes since," Paddington agreed. Arthur nodded.

"Yes, it does. Now, why don't we clean up this kitchen so we might go to sleep? I don't know about anyone else, but I'm exhausted," he continued. "Also, Francis…" he trailed off. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. The Brit cleared his throat. "The food was quite lovely. Ah, thank you." Francis blinked before his face turned bright red as well. Blushes seemed to be contagious, all of a sudden. With that said, simultaneously, everyone stood and began to tidy up. They washed the dishes, wiped the counters, put the food away, and made sure that the kitchen was spotless. With all hands on deck, however, it did not take long. Soon, everyone was upstairs back in the loft.

"We decided that Francis and Alfred would sleep on the beds while Matthew and, ah, his bear slept on the full mattress and I sleep on the couch cushions that we made into a cot. Paddington, we found a sleeping bag for yourself," Arthur explained. No one protested these assignments, and soon they were all tucked up in bed. It was extremely tight with almost no room to walk in, but it was cozy. And cozy was exactly what they needed while the storm continued to rage on outside. The thunder rumbled and the lightning flashed and the wind howled. The bears were practically trembling, and(although they would never admit it) some of the adults were as well.

"Who knew we'd be sleeping up here ever again, Artie?" Alfred pondered, breaking the silence. It was dark, and no one could be seen from their respective positions. A soft sigh, however, was heard.

"I had never thought so, no," came a British voice.

"Even if you did, I doubted you imagined us here, too," a French accent added. Chuckles were heard across the room. No, they definitely had not.

"It's kind of fun though, you have to admit," Matthew announced. No one responded, but no one denied it, either. A few more dark moments of silence passed. Thunder rumbled again.

"'Stranded in the heart of the greatest storm London has seen in centuries.' It does sound rather exciting," Francis mused.

"I bet we could make it a movie," Alfred suggested. They all laughed again at the thought of it.

"You would need more romance and witty one-liners for Hollywood to buy it," Arthur argued.

"True…" Alfred muttered. Silence came again. They all listened to the pitter patter of rain on the roof.

"Are you seriously not going to do anything, Artie?" Alfred asked bluntly. Arthur blinked in the darkness.

"What on earth about?"

"About the vase and the Westovers," Francis clarified for him. Arthur swallowed.

"What do you expect me to do?" He questioned softly.

"I don't know, go talk to them. See if they know anything about you. I think it's at least worth looking into," Alfred suggested.

"We could always come with you," Francis offered as well. Arthur remained silent. He felt a whirlwind of emotions inside. What if he was a Westover somehow? What if he could have a family again? He hardly dared to hope that anything so wonderful might be true. Should he really attempt grab hold of such a thin branch of hope?

"We could go personally submit your designs for the competition," Matthew softly added. Francis and Alfred were extreme optimists, but Matthew was a well-balanced fellow. If he were trying to find an excuse to drop by, perhaps he should give it a shot…

"All right. If you're all so insistent, I suppose we might be able to make a quick trip to the Westover mansion tomorrow. Mind you, it is only to submit my designs," Arthur announced. Everyone gave soft cheers. Arthur could not help but smile. They were a rather ridiculous bunch, were they not? Yet, they held their own charm. Arthur found himself drifting off into sleep. From there, he awoke in a dream. More like a memory.

Arthur was fifteen. The amount of foster homes he stayed in yearly was gradually shrinking. Incredible, really, how fast one is abandoned once they are no longer considered to be 'cute little boy' material. Arthur spent as much time as possible now at the park with Winnie the Pooh and his other forest friends-despite the scoldings he received for such 'childish' behaviour. His loathing of the orphanage grew with each passing day. All he wanted was a future, something he knew he would never find at that wretched place. One lovely summer day when the sun decided to pop his head out of the clouds and smile down warmly upon the poor island down below, he was visiting the Hundred Acre Woods as usual when he saw Alfred come rushing in. The American had been in a foster home for the past two weeks, leaving Arthur alone with plenty of time to think.

"Artie! I've been lookin' all over for ya!" He cried as he approached.

"Where else did you think you'd find me?" the older boy asked. Alfred shrugged.

"I dunno, I guess I wasn't really thinking," he admitted. Arthur rolled his eyes but he smiled. He was sitting on a stump drawing in the dirt. Alfred peeped over his shoulder to try to see what he was creating. He was doodling a house.

"I've been thinking, Alfie," the British boy said. Alfred's ears perked up out of curiosity.

"What about?"

"Well, we aren't getting any younger," he commented, "and people don't like to foster teenagers." Although Alfred was only eleven at this point, he was only a few inches below Arthur. People already assumed he was thirteen or fourteen. By now, he was not getting many more foster homes than Arthur was.

"Yeah, so?" Alfred asked, trying to get Arthur to hurry on to the point. He had a tendency to let his mind wander and get distracted.

"We can take care of ourselves, right?" Alfred nodded. "Then, why don't we do just that? I think we should run away and start our own life." The American was stunned. Run away? It was something he never thought Arthur would even consider. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more he remembered that Arthur hated this institution far more than he did. Alfred grew excited.

"What an adventure! Let's do it!" He agreed enthusiastically. Arthur looked serious.

"We'll have to get jobs, and we will need to find a place to live. It's not going to be easy, and we probably won't have much to start off with, if anything. We will need to make sure though that no one finds us suspicious or we will be sent right back here," he admitted. Alfred became grave. He had never considered those components of leaving before. He began to wonder if they really could do it. Suddenly, Arthur met eyes with him. He had that mischievous sparkle in his eye, as if he were daring the world to come at him with its best shot.

"But, we have no future here, anyway, and I know that, together, we can do anything!" He reassured. Alfred grinned.

"Yeah! We're an unstoppable team; Alfred and Arthur verses the world!" He exclaimed. Arthur laughed, and the sun seemed to shine a little bit brighter.

"And we're going to win!" he agreed. A thought crossed Alfred's mind, suddenly.

"What about your friends here in the Hundred Acre Wood?" he asked.

"We're not leaving London," Arthur reminded. "I may not be back as often, but I'll always come back and visit. We will need to responsible adults, and responsible adults don't abandon their friends," he concluded. Alfred beamed. They were really going to do it. They were going to go out and make a place for themselves in this world. All their lives, they had been told that they were worthless, unloved, and unwanted. Through all of it though, Arthur had never lost faith. He had always believed there was something out there for them. Now, they were going to go get it.

"Promise me that we'll stay together?" Alfred suddenly asked. "Artie, will you promise not to leave me once we get out there?" Arthur seemed surprised by his request. He smiled, however, and said,

"I promise. I swear that I'll never leave you. I'd be fine staying with you forever." Alfred blushed.

"Me too. I'll never leave you either. I promise."


	8. Chapter 8: A Ridiculous Revelation(full)

((Guess who! *slides to the floor in shame* Yes, it's been a while… I've been crazy busy! Good news: I've finished my first book! We're talking to publishers now that I've rewritten it. Sorta bad news: I don't have a job anymore! Long story but I quit ha! Now I'm helping out at home and getting paid somewhat for that so I can't complain. It gives me more time to work on my second book(*screams out of excitement and terror at the same time*)! Lucky for you guys though, I have more time to get back to writing this now whoop. It's still not going to be super regular(I get super anxious when I have a deadline DX) but I am hoping to finish it. June is going to be a busy month so I might not give any updates then but hopefully I'll update more in May. I hope you guys haven't given up, I'll try to give less gaps from now on ha! This is the end of this chapter, by the way. I'll start the next one soon. Have a great day!))

Arthur woke up. He opened his eyes. Upon remembering his predicament, he huffed indignantly. Suddenly, his dream came rushing back to his mind, and he felt a huge weight fall over him. He gripped his pillow and squeezed his eyes shut tight to avoid tears.

 _Why did you leave, Alfred?_ He thought.

 _You promised._

Gritting his teeth, he took a deep breath. Only then, did he realize how quiet the room was. That could only mean one of two things. Either everyone else was still asleep, or they were all awake…

Hobbling downstairs, Arthur found everyone sitting around a table full of fresh pancakes and maple syrup. Everyone was chatting and laughing as if they had lived this way their whole lives. With everyone present, the entire table was full. Incredibly enough, the sun was shining brightly, streaming through the window. It was a rather picturesque moment.

 _Is this what a family looks like?_ Arthur suddenly wondered, slightly curious himself as to why the thought struck him. Alfred happened to look up and see him on the stairs in a slight daze.

"Hey, Artie! Come on down and eat! We didn't want to wake you," he explained. Arthur gave a nod and sat down at the table. Someone passed him the plate stacked with pancakes and the syrup came around soon after. They all praised Matthew and his incredible pancake skills. He blushed and waved away their worship. Arthur did not need to say a word, he simply began eating, all the while in deep contemplation. Halfway in, he glanced over to find Alfred-who was sitting next to him, coincidentally(why had he not thought to complain?)-staring at him with a ridiculous smile on his face.

"What in the blazes are you gawking at?" he asked.

"Nothing…" he said, although he sounded rather odd. Finally, the Brit decided to ignore him and continue eating.

Alfred tried to look away, but continued staring. It was the first time in years that Arthur had looked like _Arthur._ Not that stupid, stuffy adult who insisted that he all he cared about was his career and his reputation. The face he saw coming down those stairs was that of his best friend that he had grown up with. He also swore that he saw his brilliant green eyes sparkle just a tad. His goal was to bring that sparkle back to full capacity, because, boy did he miss that. That was one of the things he missed the most.

"So, we need to go back to Arthur's apartment and finish altering his designs," Matthew announced. "Then, we can go to the Westovers." Everyone gave a chorus of agreement. Arthur paused his eating.

"Alfred, we never finished packing our things," he realized. The other waved his concerns away.

"We can come back next weekend. Aunt Rose said she wasn't moving out for two more weeks, where's the rush?" He reminded. Arthur nodded.

"You're right. Top priority is this design," he agreed. Alfred tried not to beam. For once, Arthur had not argued him down.

They finished breakfast, tried to clean themselves up as best they could, and called a cab. Francis gathered up the remaining pieces of the vase and put it in a small box to take with them. Arthur thought they did not need it, but Francis insisted. Once the cab had arrived, they all piled in for the long ride to Arthur and Francis's apartment building. There, everyone did a much nicer cleanup. Francis found some clothes for Alfred and Matthew to wear, and Arthur changed as well. Although he had offered his own clothes to be used also, no one was able to take him seriously. They stated rather bluntly that none of his clothes would fit anyone present except, perhaps, the bears. Francis also reminded him that no one else would want to wear sweater vests and tweed jackets. Arthur made quite a fuss about being mocked so and scolded them for assuming they knew what he had in his closet.

"I don't _only_ own sweaters and suits," he murmured bitterly, but only Matthew heard him, and he did not respond. Ironically enough(or perhaps out of spite), Arthur changed into a plain button-up shirt with a sweater vest and tweed jacket. Francis blushed when he saw him.

Regardless, they all tidied up. Matthew then began to help Arthur adjust his designs for the proper dimensions of the property Mr. Westover had bought. Alfred contributed every so often as he knew the size and layout of the land better than anyone. Several hours later, Arthur rolled up the new and improved sketches.

"That about does it. I say we pick up some lunch before we do anything else," he suggested. Everyone agreed that this was a splendid idea. Arthur assured them that he knew of a authentic Chinese shop around the corner that was lovely, so they all decided to give it a shot.

Once there, they realized that Arthur must have meant that the food was lovely, for the shop itself was rather run-down looking. Despite its sketchy appearance, Arthur waltzed right on inside as if he went there every day. Alfred leaned over to Francis and whispered,

"I had no idea he liked Chinese food so much." Francis shrugged.

"It's better than his own cooking," he whispered back. Alfred stifled a laugh.

Behind the counter, a Chinese man with long, dark hair was taking an order over the phone. His face lit up, however, once he saw Arthur. A few moments later, he hung up, and greeted cheerily,

"Arthur! My favourite Brit in London! How have you been? Who are all these people?" Everyone seemed rather stunned by this response. They had no idea that Arthur _had_ any friends other than Matthew and, perhaps, Kiku at work. They had definitely not expected him to be chummy with the owner of his favorite Chinese place.

"Yao! Don't be ridiculous, mate, I'm no one's favourite. How am I doing? Well, I've had a curious weekend, that's for sure. Don't mind them, they're tagging along with me today. What about you? How's business?" He asked. Everyone blinked.

"He's just so… _casual_ with him…" Alfred commented.

"He's never called me 'mate'," Francis lamented.

"I'm glad he has a friend," Matthew admitted. Arthur and Yao chatted amiably while the others watched in awe. After a little wait, the food was ready before they had even been aware it was ordered.

"The usual, but for a group!" Yao explained as he handed the multiple bags over. Arthur thanked him jovially, and they all exited.

"That was… weird," Alfred summed up. Arthur huffed, back to his usual self.

"Don't be ridiculous. I've known Yao since he opened his store; I was one of his first customers! I used to eat in and we would chat, but we've both been rather busy recently," he explained disappointedly. Francis shook his head.

"You're full of secrets, Arthur Kirkland. Now you'll be telling me that you have a secret twin brother!" he exclaimed.

"Ha! As if," he retorted.

"The world couldn't take two Arthurs," Alfred argued.

"This is true," Francis concurred. Arthur simply shook his head.

On account of the rare good weather that day, Alfred insisted that they eat their noon meal out in the park. Considering it was not far from where they were, Arthur reluctantly agreed. There were many people out at the park that day. Families strolled by; the children ran to and fro, feeding the ducks and geese. Couples sat under the shades of trees, snuggling and watching passersby. A few single folk were present as well, often walking their dogs. Sitting next to the pond, the four men and two bears were, surely, a sight to behold. Not a bad one; however, for they ate and conversed rather jovially.

Paddington and his polar bear friend sat a tad closer to the pond than their human companions. Unfortunately, this attracted a lot of ducks and geese who noticed only the food they were consuming. It also attracted a small person who only noticed two bears sitting in a park.

"Why, hullo, bears! What brings you to the park today?" a cheery, childish voice called out. The two bears turned to the source of the sound. A small boy of maybe eleven was skipping towards them. His hair was sandy blonde, and his eyes were deep blue like the sea. They sparkled with mischief and adventure.

"We're here for the same reasons I suppose most everyone else is here for," Paddington replied. "It's a lovely day out!"

"A bit warm for my taste," the polar bear added, but no one paid him any mind.

"Yes, it is, isn't?! Would you two like to play?" the little boy asked. "My name is Peter!"

"Hullo, Peter, I'm Paddington and this is my friend… Mr. K?" Paddington introduced hesitantly while glancing at the other bear.

"That's fine," he replied softly. "Or just K. I get confused too." They turned their attention back to the boy.

"Are those your friends?" Peter asked, pointing to the four gentleman sitting in the grass. Currently, Alfred and Francis were laughing madly while Arthur was huffing and blushing. Matthew seemed to be attempting to comfort him, but to no avail. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Yes, they are." Paddington confirmed. "Who are you here with?" The little boy's face fell. For a few seconds, his eyes grew sad. Very quickly, however, he cheered up again as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, I'm here all by myself because I'm an adult! I don't need anyone to supervise me!" he insisted confidently, his eyes sparkling again. The bears glanced at each other. Before they could respond though, a curious thing happened.

You must understand, that while they were distracted by Peter, the geese had grown rather brave. Steadily, they approached in hopes of gaining a fulfilling meal. Instead, they were met with disappointment for the bears had gobbled up their food quite quickly. But, one of the geese known for his keen sense of smell happened to catch a whiff of something else before they retreated. As the bears held their conversation, the birds hatched a plan to retrieve this hidden treasure.

The next thing Paddington knew, there was a large gander snatching his bright red hat, revealing the marmalade sandwich beneath. Before anyone fully understood what was happening, another one grabbed the sandwich and flew off into the middle of the lake. There the other birds gathered to take part in this tasty morsel. Paddington, however, was greatly distressed at the loss of his hat. His Aunt Lucy had given him that hat! He must not lose it to a glorified pigeon! The three creatures chased after it, shouting and flailing their arms, but the bird simply escaped by taking it with him into the middle of the pond.

"Oh no! I can't swim; it's lost forever!" Paddington lamented.

"No it's not! There are some boats a little ways down the shore of the pond! Follow me!" Peter explained. Hope renewed, the bears followed the child to the spot. Sure enough, two canoes sat on the edge of the water.

"Get in!" Peter urged. They did just that, and the little boy pushed them off before joining. Paddington kept his eyes on his red hat, floating precariously in the center of the pond. Several ducks and geese swam about it, curiously pecking at it. It definitely was not food, so what could its purpose be?

"Shoo! Shoo!" Paddington called to them as they approached. Poor Peter was the only one with long enough arms to row properly. He alone guided the three of them towards the hat with heaving breaths.

"Are we there yet?!" he wondered.

"Not quite," the polar bear answered. Peter groaned and kept rowing.

"We're close!" The brown bear reassured. He leaned over the edge in an attempt to shoo the birds away. A few huffs later, they were as close to the hat as Peter could manage. The ripples created from the boat, however, pushed the hat just out of reach. Eagerly, Paddington leaned over the edge, scolding the birds for attempting to snack on his priceless treasure. Peter and the polar bear called out in dismay, but it was too late. Paddington unknowingly made the boat rather unstable as he leaned over, causing them all to experience one horrific moment of realization before they felt the shock of the water.

A splash. A very loud, large, frightening, heart-stopping splash. Arthur jumped to a standing position.

"Where are the bears?!" He exclaimed. Lost in their friendly conversation, they had all completely forgotten to supervise the young creatures. All eyes turned to the pond. In the center of it sat an upside-down canoe, and around the canoe floated three large persons: a child, and two bears. Several insulted birds also flapped about nearby, but they were irrelevant. A small voice could be heard faintly from the shore. It was the boy.

"Help! Help! Paddington can't swim!" the young voice cried.

"I thought all bears could swim? Don't they eat fish?" Francis pondered.

"Mr. Kikumajuri can, but he grew up in the wild. If Paddington was raised in a domestic setting his whole life, he might never have learned how," Matthew suggested. Arthur had his hand to his forehead. He looked strangely guilty.

"He eats marmalade sandwiches, not fish! He's very domesticated… I should have kept a closer eye on him…" he muttered angrily. He seemed only angry at himself, however. Taking a breath, he remembered the sudden gravity of the situation. "It's all right, I'm coming!" He called back suddenly. He ripped his shoes off, but Alfred was ahead of him. During their bewildered discussion, he had already stripped everything but his pants. Without a moment's hesitation, he dove into the water and quickly swam towards the panic. The others were slightly stunned by such a rapid reaction, but Arthur quickly followed suit.

Out in the water, Peter and the polar bear were struggling to help keep Paddington afloat. Alfred arrived just in time. He easily grabbed the bear and began the return trip to the shore. Arthur continued to the other two who were exhausted by this point. Although they could both swim rather well, they were grateful for Arthur's support after holding Paddington for so long. By the time they had all returned safely to shore, a small crowd had gathered. They cheered happily as the two men helped the troublesome trio onto the dry ground. Alfred grinned.

"Hey, we're heroes!" he exclaimed, basking in the moment. Arthur ignored them all. He rushed over to Paddington who was panting on the warm grass, dripping wet.

"Are you all right?! What were you thinking? You shouldn't be so reckless. Especially when you can't swim!" he fussed. The group looked at him slightly askance. They had never seen him quite so stirred up. Paddington coughed.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, but I couldn't lose my hat! Where is it? Did someone get it?!" he declared, his eyes darting around fervently. They landed on Peter, who was currently wearing the soaked item. It flopped about and dripped water everywhere, but the boy seemed unfazed.

"Here it is! I snatched it up before your friend helped us ashore! Thank you, sir, for saving my friend!" Peter exclaimed jovially. His cheery disposition seemed rather untarnished by the danger of the previous escapade. Paddington beamed.

Arthur eyed the boy up and down.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Peter!" the young boy announced as he handed the sopping hat back to Paddington.

"Peter what? Where are your parents?" Arthur pressed, his attention now turning to the surrounding park. The crowd has dispersed, but no adults were in sight to claim the child as their own. When he turned back to Peter, he knew why. His bright smile had disappeared completely.

"I… I don't have any… I came to the park on my own," he admitted, his blue eyes on the puddle around his wet shoes. By this point, everyone else in the group had gathered around in interest. Arthur and Alfred made eye contact.

"B-but please don't-don't tell anyone! Miss Elizabeta is a harsh lady, and she doesn't like me going out on my own, and-" he stuttered frantically. He was stopped by a large hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he caught eyes with Alfred who wore a bitter-sweet smile.

"Don't worry, kiddo, we won't tell anyone," he assured him. Peter seemed surprised. Arthur gave a nod of agreement.

"You can trust us. Just be careful by yourself," he reminded. Peter's eyes became glassy. The Brit frowned. "Please, no waterworks. We're all wet enough already." This made the boy laugh.

"Thank you! I've never had anyone treat me so kindly before…" Arthur sighed.

"Don't push your luck." Peter nodded and thanked everyone there after receiving quick introductions. They all waved and smiled as he trotted off, even Arthur. Then they all turned back to the matters at hand. Arthur sighed again as he buttoned his shirt up and addressed the little troublemaker.

"Paddington, what in the blazes am I going to do with you? You bring trouble everywhere you go!" He was startlingly interrupted, however, by a tackle from the back. Twisting around, he discovered it was not a tackle, but a hug. Young Peter could not be rid of that easily. Arthur was unsure of how to respond. His immediate instinct was to shove him away… yet, another part of him wanted to draw him closer. Instead, he simply stood frozen, stunned. Suddenly, he felt a much larger, more vigorous embrace from the side the same time he heard a gleeful laugh come from Alfred.

"Group hug!" He shouted. He was still soaked, however, causing drops of water to fall on Arthur's damp head.

"Now, hold on-" the small man began to protest. It was too late though. Francis had already joined in, along with the two bears. Matthew was more hesitant, but Francis pulled him in. Eventually, Arthur was surrounded in a cocoon of affection. He groaned.

"All right! Everybody off! All of you!" He grumbled while beginning to wiggle and squirm his way out of the huddle. Everyone laughed, but they complied as well. Arthur neatened his clothes. "You lot are all absolutely _ridiculous,_ " he scolded. It did not affect their laughter.

"Classic Artie!" Alfred exclaimed between laughs. Arthur huffed crossly, but said nothing.

No one noticed Peter slip out quietly with a huge grin on his face and tears in his eyes. He dearly hoped to meet this group again one day. They seemed rather rambunctious and dysfunctional, but, in their own curious way, they also felt like a family. Maybe someday they would see it too.

"We had better get moving before something _worse_ happens," Arthur insisted. They agreed. With some wet trousers and (mostly)joyous spirits, they called a cab and made their way to the Westover mansion.

 _Mansion_ was an understatement. _Palace_ or _castle_ would have better befitted the enormous property. Matthew spoke for them all when he quietly muttered,

"I never knew they were _that_ rich." Deep down inside, they all felt again like children. What wonders might lie behind those doors? How many empty halls contained doors hiding secret treasures? A certain boyish curiosity sprang up in each of them.

Arthur, however, was very quick to stifle his own feelings and remind them of the real reason they were even present.

"We're only here to submit the designs, that is all. Nothing more, nothing less. I know you all have ridiculous fantasies rolling through your brains but you'll have to ignore them," he scolded.

"Come on, Artie; don't you even want to ask about the vase? I brought the piece with the crest on it to show them!" he argued. Out of all of them, Alfred was fixated on the possibility of Arthur being connected to the Westovers the most. Arthur scowled.

"Whatever _you_ do is none of my business, but don't drag me into anything," he answered. Alfred did not look happy about the arrangement, but he kept his mouth shut.

At the front door, there was a bell, a doorbell, and a knocker. After some debate on which was the proper one to sound, Francis rang the doorbell. It was answered only moments later by a small woman with dark hair and a maid's uniform. She seemed surprised and rather intimidated by such an unexpected group.

"H-how may I, ah, help you?" she stammered hesitantly.

"My colleague and I have come to submit our designs for the complex," Arthur explained. Matthew silently beamed at the term 'colleague.'

"Oh, ah, come in, then. Wait in the foyer, if you would, while I retrieve the man in charge of the contest…" the young woman said before rushing off down a large hall. Everyone was silent as they took it all in. It was indescribably beautiful. The sheer size of it was enough to take one's breath away, regardless of the lavish architecture. The foyer alone was five times the size of Arthur's apartment. Aunt Rose's entire cottage could fit inside it.

Some staff passed the guests every so often, flowing about the labyrinthine halls seamlessly. A couple might glance their way, but most of them never paid them any mind. An older woman, however, began to stare. Her walk slowed, and her gaze widened the longer she looked. Suddenly, as if she experienced a sudden epiphany, she gasped and dropped the tea set she was holding. A loud _CRASH_ echoed throughout the room as tiny pieces of porcelain scattered across the floor. Everyone turned to her with surprise on their faces.

"Are you all right?!" Francis cried. She never responded. She stood frozen with her hands over her mouth. Arthur was unsure if it were because of the realization she experienced or the tea set she just ruined. She never said a word before she dashed off quickly down another hall.

"Okay, that was weird," Alfred admitted. No one said anything for the next few minutes. Another maid came to sweep up the shattered set just as the young maid returned again. This time she appeared even more frantic and distressed. Her response was rather collected despite this.

"Come with me. Mr. Westover would like to meet with you in person."

The house was more mazelike then they had imagined. Hall after hall after hall led to who knows where. Everywhere they went, large pairings of ancient Westovers cluttered the walls. Between doors sat individual portraits, and the ends of the halls generally displayed the entire family. They must have been very wealthy indeed considering that only the most recent generations of Westovers had been rich; all of the painted portraits of ancestry must have been done on request.

All the Westovers began to look the same after a while. The Westovers were known for their blonde hair and hazel eyes, and, after awhile, that was all Arthur could seem to see.

The young maid led them through countless halls and up several large staircases. Paddington wondered how long it took for the staff to learn what each room was. Perhaps they did not actually know every room… maybe they were only taught the important ones. Most of the doors all looked the same: dark brown wood that was unnecessarily oranately engraved. Paddington, merely out of curiosity, tested multiple door knobs to see if they were open. All of them, disappointingly, were locked. Except one.

It looked like any of the other doors. Nothing would have made it particularly special, in Paddington's mind. The hall looked just like all the other ones, too. Nothing gave a reason for that particular door to be open. Yet… here it was. That only made it all the curioser. The others kept walking, caught up in the vast array of the mansion and the echoing sound of the maid's footsteps. The polar bear was the only one to notice him lag behind(partially because they were the same height and, thus, much more noticeable to each other than the humans, who were much too tall to even see them without looking downward).

"What are you doing?" he asked cautiously. Paddington eased the door open just a crack so as to peek inside.

"Investigating," he whispered. The polar bear, who was usually agreeable with Paddington's antics, was unamused.

"This is a very big house; if you get behind, you'll get lost," he warned.

"I'll only be a minute! You can go on, I'll catch up soon," Paddington assured his friend. The other bear seemed torn, but ended up choosing to follow the group. Paddington was not bothered by this, he knew that not every bear was as curious as he was. He only wondered what might lie behind that door… the door inched open, as if hesitating at his touch. It was dark and musty. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw…

A bedroom. That's all it was, just a bedroom. It looked rather unused for quite a long time. Paddington wondered if the Westovers ever had guests. Maybe they used another wing. He did not know what to think. Coming this far, however, he could not simply turn back now.

He pushed his way in, stepping softly so as not to disturb the memories and ghosts that might be lying within. The carpet was lush, but looked rather worn in certain places. At the very outset was a bed, directly opposite the door. A bedside table and wardrobe also occupied the space. Nothing else much was present. Paddington sighed in disappointment. He hobbled over to the bed, still holding hopes of finding some grand secret. All he found was a photo. Three little girls, all with blonde hair and hazel, brown eyes. In the photo, they were in matching dresses and matching poses, yet it was clear that they were not triplets. Although their faces were nearly identical, their heights were different, and their expressions conveyed different things. The eldest was obviously a bit bossy, though definitely a people-pleaser. The youngest was no doubt spoilt rotten. The middle had a mischievous gleam in her eye that immediately pegged her as the troublesome one. Yet she was smiling the largest.

A few more pictures depicted the girls growing up together until they became lovely, adult women. Paddington wondered if these could be Mr. Westover's daughters, and he wondered if he might meet them. They looked pleasant and fun in all their photos.

Paddington began to suspect this may have been one of the girls's rooms at some point. He suddenly noticed small things that began to suggest this. For instance, there was a hairbrush on the bedside table. Although mostly clean, it still contained some blond hairs stuck within it from its previous use. Under the bed he found a large blue suitcase with flowers on it.

Interested in proving his theory, Paddington marched over to the looking wardrobe. It was very tall and he struggled to reach the knob. Once open, he found his proof: dresses. They were very lavish dresses, made of rich silks and velvets. Paddington wondered if the house ever hosted any ball dances so as to call for such attire. At the top of the wardrobe, he noticed a small shelf. Actually, the shelf was not what caught his eye rather the tiny case resting on the shelf. It was a brown, leather luggage piece and it looked very reminiscent of his own suitcase. Oh! What might be inside it?! The thought was too grand to bear. Maybe this was the great discovery he had been hoping for. Was it a key? A treasure map? He simply must know!

The dilemma was his height. That was when the boxes at the bottom of the wardrobe caught his eye. Some of them were shoe boxes, others were hat boxes. One of them was a box of chocolates although it was all empty now(Paddington checked just to make sure). Whatever they had once been, they were now his access to the mysterious suitcase. He stacked them all up-quite precariously-and climbed them like only a bear could. From there, he stretched into his tiptoes. With great fright, he noticed the box-tower begin to waver. He was so close to grabbing the latch! His balance was growing evermore unsteady. He could feel himself start to wobble. Oh, but he was so close! With a final effort, he sprung himself upward, snatching the handle and toppling his step stool. From there, he commenced to fall directly into the pile of boxes with a loud crash. Many of them had now opened so as to make it a pile of not only boxes but also shoes and hats. Paddington struggled to free himself from his pile of things but finally did so only to find a shadow standing over him.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Arthur rebuked.

"Investigating!" Paddington said. He immediately realized that was the wrong answer. Arthur growled and pulled him fully out of the mess of stuff. He began to put everything back in their proper box.

"You can't go snooping around someone else's house! It's a violation of privacy!" he lectured. Paddington had become preoccupied with the case. It had somehow opened during the fall, but he could not find its contents. It must have fallen out during his tumble. Arthur ranted about something to do with destruction of property and personal respect while the bear began to search for the missing item. Surely, the container was not empty? What else would be the point of having a latched, leather box?

Suddenly, Paddington realized that it had gone quite silent. Confused as to whether Arthur had finished early or was glaring at him for not paying attention, he turned to him. Instead, he found the man looking at a spot on the ground like it was a ghost. His green eyes were wide with fright and puzzlement. His mouth hung open as if he had something to say but could not find the words or ability to express them. Paddington walked over to see what he was seeing that made him act so oddly. It turned out that a box had been covering Paddington's view of the object.

It was a lovely necklace covered in diamonds. They sparkled and shine beautifully even in the dim light. Paddington wondered if he would be blinded had he seen them in broad daylight. It still did not explain Arthur's haunted expression, however.

"What is it?" Paddington asked. Arthur's mouth finally shut.

"I… I've seen that necklace before.." Paddington cocked his head in confusion.

"Where?"

"It was in a picture…" Arthur explained. His eyes were still rather glazed as he spoke. "It was in my mother's wedding picture… she was wearing it." They both let those words settle over them. Before either could respond though, they were greeted by approaching footsteps at the doorway.

"Good heavens!" The deep voice cried. "Why wasn't this door locked? What on earth could you two be-" The man stopped speaking. He had bumbled in and turned the light switch on(Paddington had been unable to find it before even though it was right beside the doorway). His entrance had snapped the intruders out of their daze, and they had both turned to face the man. He was an older man with white hair that showed hints of blonde in the right light. He was definitely well-fed with a very round appearance. He had hazel eyes. He looked like one of the wall portraits come to life. This, was Mr. Westover. Mr. Westover made eye contact with Arthur. This was when he had stopped speaking. He adjusted his glasses. Suddenly, the strange expression that had haunted Arthur now haunted his. After a moment of opening and closing his mouth in an effort to find the proper words to say, he finally spoke.

"You're supposed to be dead!"


End file.
